Alan and John Walk Into a Bank
by criminally charmed
Summary: Alan and John just wanted a small break, some time with their dad and each other before heading back to school and space. Just something normal. Tracys can't seem to do normal. At least not when I write the story. Oh, Happy Birthday to LMB.
1. Chapter 1

**Alan and John Walk Into a Bank**

**By Criminally Charmed**

**Chapter One**

**_Disclaimer - Do not own the Thunderbirds, the Tracys, etc. If I did own the Tracys I know some people who would pay handsomly for hourly rates. Happy Birthday to Little Miss Bump, who asked for some John whump mixed in with Alan's. You know, Hornets Nest by Spence does that nicely. It's an oldie but goodie._**

* * *

John Tracy looked up from his laptop to his brother Alan's balcony. The teenager had come a long way since his accident a few months ago while he was attending a boarding school in Massachusetts.

The second-born Tracy son could still recall that heart-stopping moment when the Wharton's headmaster had called to tell them Alan was missing.

_Headmaster Oliver Bean greeted Jeff politely but with a touch of anxiety that immediately worried Jeff. If Alan were in trouble, anxiety would not be an emotion that anyone from his school should be displaying._

_"Mr. Tracy, um, Alan, uh-"_

_"Headmaster Bean, with all due respect, I prefer directness," Jeff interrupted as every parental instinct went on high alert. Glancing briefly at his older sons, he saw the same amount of worry on them as well._

_Bean gulped and spoke once more. "Mr. Tracy, last night, Alan left his dorm room to go out for a run."_

_"I'm aware of that, Headmaster," Jeff began to explain. "I tried calling Alan last night and his roommate, Fermat, told me."_

_Two more gulps were needed before the headmaster could continue. "Well, Mr. Tracy, __Alannevermadeitback__"_

_Jeff blinked at the rapid sentence that had blurred into one word that took a moment for him to decipher. "What do you mean, he never made it back? Where is my son?"_

_The headmaster was visibly sweating, having never encountered the wrath of a Tracy before. "When young Mr. Hackenbacker awoke, he realized Alan had never returned, so he called security. They in turn did a system check and discovered Alan had not come back to his dorm. A campus wide search turned up nothing and we verified with the gate that they had also had no sign of him as well. We have alerted the authorities."_

_"I'll be there as soon as I can," Jeff responded as he turned off the vid-phone. Rising, he started to leave the room only to realize his other sons were following. "Boys, you can't come as well. International Rescue is needed by the world-"_

_John cut his father off and spoke bluntly. "Alan is our world, Dad. And he's taken second place to International Rescue once too many times in his life. We're going with you." Turning to his brothers, he gave assignments. "Virg, set up the auto-response. We're off-line until further notice. Scotty, ready Tracy One, it's the fastest one besides the 'Birds. Gordy, get the ready bags and load them into the plane. I'll go tell the Kyranos and grab Brains. Fermat will need him-" John stopped before he could utter the unimaginable._

_"Yes," Jeff agreed quietly. "Fermat will need him."_

The time between that call and finding Alan had been terrifying. When they had found the youngest Tracy son, he had been badly injured, having been run down by a fellow student and left to die on the side of a service road that ran along the backside of Wharton's campus. In time, the teenager had recovered but some of his injuries were still lingering.

For a few days, the Tracys had not been sure if Alan would walk again. Luckily, after those few days Alan had begun to regain feeling in his legs. Soon thereafter the family had taken their baby back to their island home, starting him on a rehabilitation program in order to regain his full mobility, Alan had convinced himself it would only be a matter of time before he could rejoin rescues and that he would head back to Wharton's – and his place on the track team – by the fall.

Today, however, Alan had found out otherwise. Not that Alan had said anything when he had returned from the mainland with Virgil. But Dr. Emily Haas, an emergency medical specialist recommended by Alan's doctor from Massachusetts, had called John to give him a heads up that Alan had been "disappointed".

It helped to be dating a doctor.

Thinking of Emily, a Dresden doll personified with a will of iron and an IQ that went through the roof always made John smile. He had never been so glad to have called dibs with his brothers.

"I told Emily to call you," Virgil said as he approached John.

Still looking at Alan as he sat morosely on the balcony, John murmured, "Thanks."

"I know you didn't tell Dad," Virgil continued as he pulled up a chair next to the table John was sitting at.

"Did you?"

Virgil nodded, looking up at Alan before returning his focus to his other blonde brother. "Yeah. Dad was disappointed but not surprised."

"Emily said she stressed to Alan that it could change. That they would reevaluate him when he comes home for Thanksgiving and that he may be able to rejoin the team after that."

Grinning, Virgil nudged John. "Does that mean the Thunderbirds or the track team?"

John shrugged. "Either. Both."

"Still can't believe Dad is OK with Alan heading back to Wharton's."

Glancing at his middle brother, John shrugged once more. "Alan wants to. He needs the space, Virg. And he promised to play it cautious, especially now that the media knows where he is. The kid has friends there and he is really enjoying his classes now."

"Sprout sure is bummed that he isn't at a hundred percent yet," Virgil mused as the brothers watched first Tin-Tin, then Jeff join Alan on the balcony. Whatever the Tracy father was saying sure was perking Alan up. The kid was smiling for the first time since they returned to the island.

Looking down at the e-mail from his publisher, John began to smile. "Hey, Virg – Dad has that meeting he has to attend on Thursday next week, right?"

"Yeah," Virgil agreed cautiously.

John grinned as he watched their father leave Alan and Tin-Tin sitting on the balcony. "I have to catch Dad. I think I may know something that will make Al's day."

* * *

Jeff Tracy left his youngest son's room, carefully making sure the door was wide open – _he trusted Alan and Tin-Tin, honestly he did – _and headed back to his office. He had wanted to accompany Alan to his appointment but he hadn't been able to move a teleconference. A part of him truly regretted how much life seemed to interrupt the time he wanted to spend with Alan. Between International Rescue and Tracy Enterprises, not to mention Alan living in the States during the school year, there just didn't seem to be enough time for them to be together.

After the incident with the Hood over Spring Break, Jeff had sworn he would be putting Alan's well-being at a greater priority. His son wasn't going to become one of the forgotten off-spring of the well-to-do. Jeff had planned on picking up Alan from his school at the end of the year and spending a few days with Alan in New York. Thinking of how that had never happened still haunted Jeff in his dreams.

Instead of a few days spent going to the premier of a movie Alan had been anxious to see and playing tourist, Jeff had spent that time by Alan's hospital bed. And while Alan was frustrated by his pace of recovery, Jeff found himself grateful beyond measure that his baby wasn't just alive but not trapped in a wheelchair.

"Dad!"

Jeff turned at the sound of his second son's voice and gave John a small smile. While he enjoyed the unusual chance to have all five of his off-spring nearby, he was even happier to be witnessing John fall in love with the gentle Emily Haas. In some ways, she reminded him of Lucy, with her warmth and compassion. He knew John was very serious about the relationship and had confided to his father that if Emily and he were to make a future of it, she had to know the truth.

"John," Jeff said, patting his son's shoulder. "Are you planning on telling Emily about International Rescue soon? You're due to go back up in just under a month. Brains said everything, including all of the upgrades, should be ready by then."

Sighing, John shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure, Dad. I mean, I really want to but I just don't know how she'll feel about it." Shaking his head, John followed his father to Jeff's office.

"Not to change the subject Dad, but I have an idea. Something that could really help perk Alan up…"

* * *

The family was gathered around the dinner table, the Kyranos having left the meal just about prepared before heading off to their own home, leaving the Tracys to have some alone time. It wasn't that the Kyranos were not welcome to eat with them – they often did. But Kyrano had met with an attorney who had been reviewing his brother's ill-gotten gains. The Hood had long ago sold off any land or property belonging to their mutual father. However, some family heirlooms had been found and Kyrano had, with the assistance of a lawyer recommended by Jeff, been pursuing getting some of those items that should have been his all along, especially a set of jade statuettes that had been in his mother's family for over three centuries. Since they had been discovered among the items in the criminal's hidden vault, Kyrano was looking forward to sharing them with his wife and daughter, not to mention finally telling Tin-Tin about his mother, who she so closely resembled.

Jeff looked over at John and received an encouraging nod. Turning to his other blonde son, Jeff softly said, "Alan?"

When Alan glanced up at his father, Jeff smiled. "Alan, I have to go to a meeting in New York next week -"

"And you want me to know that Scott is in charge while you are gone," Alan deadpanned. "So I need to behave and listen to the deputy dic – I mean, my big brother."

John snickered, completely not intimidated by the glare Scott was sending up the table. "Actually, Alan," he picked up for his father. "I will be going with Dad. Seems there is a sci-fi convention in Manhattan next week and my publisher thinks it would be "brilliant" for me to give a lecture before doing a book signing."

"Meaning he guilted you into it?" Alan surmised correctly.

Sighing, John nodded. "Irving is good at that."

"You know who he always reminded me of?" Gordon muttered. "That annoying twerp on that cartoon you and Alan used to watch. What was his name? Glasses, high pitch giggle, the whole stalker attitude?"

Thinking, John pursed his lips before snapping his fingers. "You mean on Phineas and Ferb?" Gordon's nod had John grinning. "That would be Irving."

The Tracys all laughed before Jeff broke in. "OK, now that we have established that John works for a cartoon character -"

"Could be worse," Virgil mused. "He could work for a puppet."

"Or would that be a muppet?" Scott joked.

"_Anyhow_," John stressed, "Dad and I were talking, Alan, and since Brains will be down on Monday, he can run Command and Control if there are any rescues. Between Dad and I, we thought you might like to come with us to New York. Dad has that meeting he has to attend but you can come with me to the sci-fi convention." At the hesitant look on his youngest brother's face, the astronomer chuckled.

"Don't worry, the lecture and book signing are scheduled from one to three. The convention opens at ten and doesn't close until eight that night. We'll have plenty of time to check stuff out. In fact – James Fletcher is going to be there."

Alan's jaw dropped at the mention of his favorite sci-fi writer. "No way! Seriously?"

Jeff and John both grinned at the youngest Tracy's obvious delight.

""So – a day in New York?" Scott asked. "Sounds good."

"Actually," Jeff corrected. "John is due to go back to Thunderbird Five at around the same time as Alan is due back at Wharton's. So I thought we would head up Wednesday - with the time difference we'll probably do a crash and burn that night – and you two will head to the convention in the morning while I'll have fun at that meeting."

Alan and John snickered at the look on their father's face. Grinning back, Jeff continued. "So then I thought we would spend a few days in New York. You know – do some sight-seeing, play tourist – get Alan's new school clothes."

When Alan groaned, John nudged him under the table. "Don't worry Al, I'll be there to stop Dad from buying the short pants and sweater vests."

Alan and John laughed at the grimace from Jeff, which made the father join in with his sons' amusement. Some time with the two sons he didn't get to really be with. This should be interesting.

* * *

_**A/N - Oh, don't own Phineas and Ferb either. Love to watch it with my daughter. So - here is a new one. Hope it gets even half the support of Left By the Wayside. I realize this chapter repeats some of what you saw at the begining or end of LBTW, but it does occur between the last chapter and the epilogue. Hope you enjoy -**_

**_Alan - She's baaaccckk!_**

**_CC - Alan, the conversations will be after even numbered chapters. You aren't supposed to be here._**

**_Alan - Know thy enemy. I'm keeping tabs on you._**

**_CC- Alan, I am not the enemy. You got better, didn't you? I had one reviewer asking for a permanent injury. I refused. Um, Alan what are doing?_**

**_Alan - Looking at your reviews. I'll have John run a check on that reviewer so we can keep an eye on them._**

**_CC - Sigh. Bye Alan. Come back next chapter and I'll have refreshments._**


	2. Chapter 2

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - Never owned them, never will. **_

**__****Hmmm. Think you likey?**

**

* * *

**

Chapter Two

Jeff set down his weekend bag, looking over as Alan and John followed him into the apartment. "I don't know about the two of you," he yawned, "but I'm beat."

"Yeah, Dad," John said as he grabbed the three bags, placing one each outside the correct bedroom doors. "But you were up late last night."

"And early this morning," Alan added, already heading for the kitchen. Feeling his father's eyes on him, he shrugged. "I'm a growing boy."

"Dad," John said as he stopped his brother, "why don't I take Alan out for a bite to eat? You head straight to bed."

Jeff almost argued, knowing that Ann-Marie, his ever efficient Personal Assistant, would have made sure that the kitchen was fully stocked for the weekend. Having been with Jeff since before Alan was born, he could guarantee that there wasn't just plenty of food but all of the boys' favorite snacks.

But then he saw the look on John's face, the one that revealed that John wanted to talk to someone – more than likely Alan. And with the level of energy Alan was showing, Jeff knew he would need all the rest he could get.

"OK," the father yawned once more. "But get back at a reasonable time. I'd like to have breakfast together before we part ways."

Jeff had barely gotten the bedroom door closed when he heard the apartment door slam shut. Smiling, he could hear the excited voice of his youngest son and John's calmer tones. Kicking off his shoes, Jeff pulled off his polo shirt and lay down on top of the covers. Until the boys came home he knew it would be impossible to fall into a deep sleep.

_At least with John, they'll come home at a decent hour – unlike with Gordon - or raised voices – as they would with Scott, _Jeff mused as he drifted off.

* * *

"John," Alan asked over his third slice of pizza, "do you think we can get around Dad coming clothes shopping? I mean, uniforms I can head into DiMare's and just have them measure me and they'll repeat my Wharton's uniforms from last year."

Frowning, John took a sip of his soda, amazed at how quickly Alan had downed his food. And as the teen picked up another slice, John thought to remind Alan that he shouldn't eat so much, but part of the big brother remembered all the times Alan _hadn't _eaten. The kid was good about his diet and he really hadn't eaten that much at lunch…

Shaking off any concerns, John remembered that even with the accident, Alan had been doing his best to keep in shape all along. The teenager wanted to be ready to rejoin the team – well, both teams – once he got the all-clear. And Alan really was a growing boy. At fifteen, he was already taller than Gordon. John would not be surprised for the kid to end up the tallest of the bunch. Pulling away from any concerns, the astronomer returned to the conversation as Alan was saying that the clothing shop near Tracy Towers, which also did a nice side-line in private school uniforms, could measure Alan quickly in the morning and they could then send Jeff to the meeting while the two brothers headed off to the sci-fi convention.

"So," John mused, "you are ok with Dad being there as you get measured for your school uniform but you don't want him there when you pick up new jeans, shirts and shoes?"

"And underwear, John," Alan grumbled. "The last time I went shopping with him, he tried to buy me jockey shorts with race cars on them."

"Well," John joked, trying not to laugh. "You were how old? Ten?"

"John," Alan sighed in that put upon way only a teenager can manage. "It was six months ago."

Giving up, John let out with uproarious laughter.

* * *

Having finished their meal, John and Alan headed out, stopping at a few stores. In truth, Alan hated clothes shopping with as much of a passion as teenage boys – or Scott. But the two blonde Tracys were having fun.

John was amazed at how much he was enjoying spending time with his youngest brother. The kid was actually fairly well read and had a variety of interests.

Alan had already bought five new pairs of jeans, sneakers and some shirts – button ups and polo's. But they had agreed that he needed a few t-shirts as well. John had picked up a long-sleeve tee that he almost dropped when he heard Alan snickering behind him.

Turning, John saw Alan holding up a shirt and trying to reign in his amusement. "Anything particularly amusing?"

Biting back his laughter, Alan tossed the shirt at John and exclaiming, "I so have to get that!"

Picking up the shirt, John chuckled as Alan became engrossed with a new top featuring a character from the boy's favorite movie. Seeing the pale blue shirt with the black lettering spelling out _International Rescue _on it, John tried not to laugh out loud. A salesman approached John as he placed the shirt on top of Alan's previous choices.

"Hello, sir," the man simpered. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No," John said distractedly, trying to keep an eye on Alan without being obvious about it.

"I see you spotted one of our Thunderbirds' shirts," the salesperson, whose tag read Ronnie, continued with enthusiasm. "We are the only store in the area authorized by International Rescue, you know?"

"Really," John tried not to laugh. "I wouldn't think International Rescue would even get involved with stuff like that." Although, John wondered who was making all that money off all the bad knock off toys "featuring" the Thunderbirds.

"Well -" Ronnie began before glancing over at Alan, now about ten feet from where John was. "Excuse me." Picking up a handi-talk, the salesman spoke into it. "Security – do a sweep of section K."

Looking back over at where the man seemed focused, John's eyes widened slightly before rapidly narrowing at the undue attention the man was paying to his little brother. "Is something wrong?"

Any Tracy would have the good sense to be backing off at the moment. But Ronnie wasn't a Tracy.

"Teenagers," Ronnie hissed. "They'll steal you blind given the chance."

"Maybe he's just shopping," John interjected.

"Shoplifting more likely," Ronnie muttered.

"Can I speak with your manager?" John asked suddenly. Ronnie looked at him in surprise but used the handi-talk to page the manager.

An attractive thirtyish woman wearing a tag that read "Quinn Morgendorfer" came out and smiled at John. "Is there a problem here?"

Picking up the shirts in front of him, John shook his head. "No, no problem. I just thought you might want to know why one of your salespersons is about to cost the store about, let's see," he mused as he flipped through the shirts Alan had left with John, "oh, about a sale of at least two hundred dollars. It would have been more but I don't think I like Ronnie's stereotyping of an innocent teenager."

Any response was stalled by Alan walking back with a shirt while yawning slightly. "Hey, Johnny, I think we may want to call it a night. I'm getting pretty tired. 'Sides, with what still fits and looks good from last year, this should – do it…" Alan's voice trailed off as he saw his usually gentle brother glaring at the salesman.

Looking at the quality of clothing the two brothers – for Quinn could quickly deduce that Ronnie had put his foot in his mouth again – were already wearing, the manager tried not to lose her temper – or a lucrative sale.

"Sir, I apologize for any assumptions Ronnie may have made, and I can assure you he and I will be having a long talk about jumping to conclusions when there is no evidence to lead him there." Seeing John hesitate and guessing correctly the older blonde really didn't want the teenager to know what her salesman had suspected him of, Quinn smiled and leaned in like a conspirator.

"I'll ring you up myself. I'm salaried so it doesn't make a difference. But Ronnie works on commission."

John gave an almost Gordon-like smirk when the salesman tried to object only to be shot down by the glare from his manager.

Alan wasn't sure what was up in the store, but after the sale was rung up – and he surprised the manager by pulling out his own credit card, which was quickly approved after a thumb print recognition code, the teenager followed John out of the store.

"What was up in there, John?" Alan asked once they had cleared the entrance.

Glancing back into the store, John nodded at the sight of the manager coolly pointing to the back of the shop – and presumably her office.

"Nothing, Al," John murmured lightly before making sure they had all of their purchases. "Just making a point."

Alan shrugged. The trip, shopping and pizza were wearing down on him and he wanted nothing more than to head back to the apartment for a crash and burn of their own.

* * *

Jeff poured a cup of coffee, glad that someone – presumably John – had set up the coffee maker before heading to bed.

Heading out to the patio, Jeff enjoyed the sun rising over the Atlantic. Most of the bedrooms – as well as Jeff's office - were located facing the west so as to enjoy the sun setting into the Pacific. So the view was one the Tracys didn't get to enjoy that often.

Then again, most of the Tracys weren't exactly morning persons to begin with.

"Coffee helping any, Dad?"

Almost dropping his coffee mug, Jeff whirled around to see Alan sitting on a chair, a glass of juice in hand.

The blonde laughed at the shocked look on his father's face. "Seriously, Dad, you should see your face."

"Alan," Jeff asked as he pulled up a chair, surprise prompting his question. "What are you doing up so early?"

Shrugging, Alan stood up and began moving plates and silverware onto the table from a small serving cart in a corner. "I get up this early to go running. And Tin loves this time of day."

"Your mother always loved sunsets," Jeff recalled with a smile.

"So does Emily," John yawned as he came onto the balcony.

Alan grinned at his brother before heading into the apartment. Re-emerging a minute later, the teenager set a coffee carafe, a mug, two glasses and a pitcher of juice in front of John. "Get some coffee in you, John. You'll feel better." He patted his brother on the shoulder before returning to the apartment.

Pouring a cup, heavily adding cream and sugar, John sighed in relief as the coffee entered his system. "Thanks for making the coffee, Dad."

Looking at John in confusion, Jeff shook his head. "I didn't. I thought you did."

When Alan came back out, a casserole dish in one hand and a basket of biscuits in the other, the teenager froze when he saw his family members staring at him. "What?" he asked as he set down the dishes. Moving back over to the serving table, Alan pulled out a spoon and sat down, scooping out some of the breakfast casserole on his plate.

"You made the coffee?" John asked. "And, um -"

Alan sighed. "I made the coffee. The orange juice and biscuits are from cans. The casserole is something I made from stuff in the fridge. It's Onaha's recipe – eggs, potatoes, peppers and cheese." As his father and brother served themselves, Alan shrugged.

"I learned a lot from babysitters over the years."

Jeff picked up a biscuit and took a quick bite. Swallowing, he nodded. "Yes, Alan – I've been meaning to talk to you about that. Just what has Parker been teaching you?"

Alan didn't even pause as he snatched up a biscuit. "Well, how to drive, pick locks, boxing, and international law."

"International law?" John asked as he poured some juice.

Grinning, Alan waited until both Jeff and John had something in their mouth before answering. "Yeah, how to evade it."

"Alan!" Jeff strangled out as John tried not to choke on his juice, to which Alan roared with laughter. After a moment, the older Tracys gave in and joined Alan in his amusement. All in all, it was a great meal.

* * *

John climbed out of the taxi, holding open the door for Alan. Guiding his younger brother through a side entrance of the hotel that was hosting the convention, John felt obliged to do a last-minute big brother check list.

"Now, Alan," John started. "I want you to remember -"

"To not wander off, to tell you if I want to go somewhere, even the rest room, not to go anywhere with anyone you haven't introduced me to and preferably not with anyone but yourself," Alan interrupted. "And if the press spots me, duck."

"Got this a few times from Scott, huh?" John chuckled as the maneuvered through the displays that were in their finishing stages, awaiting the conventioneers gathering in the lobby and sidewalks.

Getting serious, John pulled Alan closer. "But seriously, Al – some of the reporters got kinda nasty that Dad never made you available to the media after the accident. There might be a few reporters at the book signing. Irving has a spot for you to stay off to the side."

Looking a bit sad, Alan stopped and looked at John. "Virgil told me, when I was in the hospital, how the reporters were after Mom died."

John dropped his eyes for a moment before raising them back up to Alan's, blue eyes to blue eyes. "It was bad. Dad's never courted the spotlight. None of us have. But because we do our best and our best – at different things – tends to be pretty darn good, reporters think they have the right to our lives, the good and the bad." Thinking of how the media had been after Alan's accident, John gave a small shudder before smiling at his brother.

"Now, don't worry about it. Let's just have some fun."

The brothers spent the morning meeting actors from several sci-fi movies or shows, and Alan was thrilled to get the new James Fletcher sci-fi book personally autographed by the author. They even posed in front of a screen designed to set you in a sci-fi scene. To their amusement, the randomly selected scene – because they couldn't agree on a scene – ended up being an artist's rendition of Thunderbird One - a rather inaccurate one, but the name written across the side made it clear.

"Scott's gonna love this," Alan snickered.

Before John could say anything, Irving Goldman came running up. Between his coke-bottle glasses and frantically flapping hands, the brothers realized the man's resemblance to the cartoon character Gordon had compared him to was, in fact, accurate. Holding back their laughter, they waited politely for the man to speak.

"John," Irving squealed. "What are you doing here? I want you to be presented and here you are mixing with the crowds!"

"Irving," John quietly said, his anger banked but visible. "This is my youngest brother, Alan. I am spending most of today with him. Now I agreed to the lecture and the book-signing but I will not neglect Alan for this dog and pony show."

"John -" Irving began to whine when Alan interrupted.

"Hey, Johnny," Alan said. "Why don't we grab some food at the restaurant in the lobby? That way we can come back when it's time for your book signing?"

Smiling at his youngest brother, John nodded and they began to make their way through the crowds. As they vanished from his view, Irving let out a breath with relief. He had heard of the infamous Tracy Temper but since the only Tracy he worked with was John, he had never experienced it in person. The closest Irving had ever come to that was a few weeks after Alan Tracy's accident, when the publisher had tried to push John to "know his priorities". In a cold e-mail message, John Tracy had made it clear that helping his youngest brother recover from the traumatic events that had almost killed the teen was John's priority. Irving decided at that moment, coming between a Tracy and a family member? Not good for long-term life plans.

* * *

At around one thirty, John was completing his lecture, based on his latest book – "A Century Among the Cosmos". As he finished, John invited some questions from the standing room only crowd before settling down for the book signing.

When the third question popped up about Jeff Tracy, John laughed. "I'm wounded, guys. I need to tell Dad to write his own darn book."

The crowd laughed but one reporter stood up, asking obnoxiously, "Come now, John – You have to admit, your family is well known for your tendency to hold themselves above the commoners."

John sighed. "Ms. Nevada. I'd like to say nice to see you again, but I am a lousy liar." He glared slightly at Irving, who had promised him that he would limit which members of the fourth estate were there. "But if I may remind you, my family has never viewed ourselves in such a manner. We grew up with chores, expectations of doing our best as the result of hard work and to take care of family above all else. If the Tracy family has a dislike of publicity, did it ever occur to you that irresponsible journalists like yourself are to blame? Ones who took pictures of devastated children who had just lost their mother? Or the ones who tried to ask my father how he felt not when Gordon won an Olympic Gold Medal but how he felt when we nearly lost that brother in the hydrofoil crash? And let us not forget _you_ falsely reporting my youngest brother's death after a drunk driver ran him down?"

"Gee," he sniped sarcastically, "I wonder why my family avoids media?"

As security escorted the woman out – she had, after all, not obtained a media pass – John once more became the bright, clever astronomer so many of the people had come to see.

From the back, Alan smiled at his brother. A reporter – one of the authorized ones – noticed the teen and asked, "And what do you think of John Tracy?"

Still smiling, Alan nodded at John. "What do I think?" When the reporter nodded, Alan broke into a full blown grin. "I think he's one of my heroes."

* * *

_**A/N - OK, diabetic warning for that last line.**_

**__****Alan - How about life and limb warning?**

**_CC - Alan, I have yet to kill a Tracy. Well, permanently._**

**_Scott - How about the limb part?_**

**__****CC - Well, you get to keep all your limbs. Does that help?**

**_Alan - That sounds like we are allowing you way too much leeway...Are you watching the news while we are talking to you?_**

**_CC - It's only until I get off my tush and put a DVD in. Maybe Daria. I like Daria._**

**_Scott - Anything on the news?_**

**_CC - Hurricaine in the Gulf. My husband was worried because Brownsville, Texas, where his Grandma lives, is in the path. But turns out she is in the hospital in Minnesota with her daughter, my mother-in-law, who is super cool. So Grandma is OK._**

**_Scott - Well, the hurr...Wait, stop watching that!_**

**_Alan - What's wrong with her watching the news?_**

**_Scott - A hurricaine? Do you want to inspire her?_**

**_CC -Don't be silly. I would never catch you in a hurricaine. Well, there was Hurricaine Meg in Standing Outside the Fire, but that was really just the outer edge. Doesn't count._**

**_Alan - See? She wouldn't do that._**

**_CC - 'Sides, Usher wrote "Hurricaine Mitchell" and did a much better job than I could._**

**_Scott - Who gets hurt in that one?_**

**_CC - Well, it's on my list of favorites -_**

**_Alan (sighs) - How badly did I get hurt?_**

**_CC - Read the story. 'Nuff said. Cookies?_**

**_Scott - Chocolate?_**

**_CC - Triple chocolate._**

**_Scott - Sounds good._**

**_CC - Laters!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - Do not own. Thunderbirds, movie or TV. Sigh. Would be nice though, right?**_

_**I am publishing once a week and had been doing it on Wednesday. Well, it has switched to Fridays as I will be posting a story for Sammygirl1963 on HER birthday, which, if I wrote it down correctly, is a Wednesday. So that story will be posted for six weeks, starting in August. Yes, I am do what I always said I would never do - Post two multi-chapter stories at once. But I should have that story done by the time it is posted so it is just a matter of setting it up. Then I can focus on this story and post more than once a week. Of course, in September, I'll be picking up more hours at my second job as the holiday shopping season starts up. So - I'll do my best. And you know my biggest problem? Answering reviews. But I will, promise.**_

_** Enjoy - Last bit of humor and fluff before the action begins.**_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Jeff Tracy sighed with relief as he entered the private elevator that led from the executive suites straight to his penthouse apartment. Ann-Marie had assured him that she had seen his sons return earlier. Only Tracys had the key that allowed them to access the penthouse apartment. He sometime wished their family didn't have to use such safety measures, but experience had taught Jeff otherwise.

Entering the apartment, Jeff stopped dead, the smell coming from the kitchen surprising him. Following the delicious aroma, the Tracy father smiled at the sight of his two blonde sons, laughing and joking in the kitchen.

"Hey, Dad!" John said cheerfully as he sliced a cucumber. "The task master put me to work."

Alan mock frowned at his brother. "You're making the salad, Johnny boy. Pretty easy."

"Where did you get dinner?" Jeff asked as he took an appreciative whiff.

"Get?" John laughed. "Dad, the kid has been hiding talents."

"John, its ziti pasta and meat sauce and garlic bread - not exactly gourmet cooking."

"Alan," John corrected, "you're a good cook. "

Smiling slightly, Alan shrugged. "Onaha said I should learn to take care of myself. Kyrano can cook, you know."

"I can cook," John laughed again. "But I can't make the dessert like you can."

"Dessert?" Jeff asked with anticipation. His sons had gotten their sweet tooth from him.

"Tiramisu," Alan shrugged. "Hope you like it."

Looking in the fridge where the delectable dessert was set, Jeff grinned at John. "Alan, you want to reconsider home schooling?"

Alan just laughed, shaking his head. "Nope. But I'll make sure and let Onaha know you want her replaced."

"Um, not a good idea," Jeff mumbled, before his face lit up. "What if you went to school in New York? Then you could come here for weekends and I could schedule any work I need to do at the office to Fridays or Mondays."

The two brothers laughed, shaking their heads. Alan just reached into a drawer and tossed some napkins at his father. "Dad, just set the table. Nobody eats for free in this establishment."

John and Alan just laughed again when Jeff could be heard to mutter, "How about the fact that my money paid for the ingredients?"

* * *

John woke in the middle of the night. For a moment he lay there in confusion, unsure of what had awakened him. Then the room lit up for a moment as a roll of thunder echoed throughout the penthouse apartment.

"Alan," John murmured as he slid out of bed. For all the things the brothers teased each other about over the years, there were certain fears and phobias that were not among them. No one would tease John about his with needles. And for better or worse, only John knew about Scott's with mice. The whole family, however, was aware that Alan was terrified of thunderstorms.

Moving quickly, John didn't even bother with a robe to cover his sleep boxers and t-shirt, and headed towards his youngest brother's room. But he froze when he heard voices in the living room. Changing directions, John stood at the edge of the room and watched as Jeff sat beside Alan on the couch, a photo album between them.

"How old was Gordon then, Dad?" Alan asked.

"Let's see – um, seventeen months old," Jeff said as he turned the page. "We couldn't get him out of that kiddie pool for anything."

Alan laughed, the sound cut off by a roll of thunder so loud the building shook. Jeff subtly placed a hand over his son's before pointing out another picture. "And there was Virgil's first mural."

Looking confused, Alan looked up at his father. "Dad, what – _where _– is that?"

"My study in the old house," Jeff grumbled. "I made the mistake of saying in front of your brother that I wanted some artwork for that wall. Your mother wouldn't let me paint it over. She even had Virgil sign it."

"Too bad the new owners would have painted it over when we moved," Alan joked. "Virgil doesn't sell many of his paintings." When Jeff remained silent, Alan looked up at his father. "Dad?"

"I never sold the house," Jeff confessed. "I just couldn't. I have the house cleaned and kept maintained. Some of the furniture is still there. Not much, just a few things. But I just couldn't give up on your mom's house. She put so much of herself into it. Lucy planted the roses in the garden, every one of them. She painted most of the rooms and picked out the curtains and carpeting. It was more her house then hers and mine. I was always so busy with the company. She made that house a home."

"Dad," Alan asked in a soft, cautious, voice. When Jeff just smiled in encouragement, Alan tentatively continued.

"Was I a mistake?"

John froze, unconsciously mimicking Jeff's movement even as Alan kept talking. "I mean – there are around two years between each of the others and more than five between Gordy and me. It just doesn't make sense."

Jeff kept looking at a picture of the last Christmas the family had spent together before Lucy had died. Then he took a deep breath. "Alan, do you know the difference between a mistake and a surprise?" When the teen continued to look at his father, Jeff smiled and hugged his youngest child.

"A mistake you regret and wouldn't do if you had a chance. A surprise is something you didn't know you wanted until you got it. You were a wonderful surprise to our entire family."

John went back to bed, assured as the storm faded that their father had the situation well in hand.

* * *

The next morning, the rain from the night before had swept the city clean.

Well, for the moment.

As Jeff and John came out to the kitchen, following the smell of bacon and eggs – not to mention coffee – Alan greeted them cheerfully.

"How can you be so chipper first thing in the morning?" John grumbled as he poured a cup of the steaming brew and flavored it to taste.

"Fermat asks that the entire school year," Alan chuckled, setting juice on the table before turning back to the eggs.

"It is an anomaly," John muttered between gulps of coffee.

Jeff smiled and shook his head, silently agreeing with his older blonde son about the younger. John and Scott, like their father, were both light sleepers but none were what you could call a morning person. Virgil and Gordon tended to be both heavy sleepers and unenthusiastic about getting out of bed in the morning. Alan was a heavy sleeper – except during thunderstorms – but bounced out of bed shortly after dawn. It boggled Jeff's mind where that had come from.

As the three Tracys ate, they began to discuss things they could do before returning to the Island Sunday afternoon.

"Personally," Alan said as he finished up breakfast, "I think I want to go for a run. I haven't exercised in two days."

Jeff and John exchanged concerned looks. Alan was used to being able to go for runs whenever he felt like it, but wouldn't think of how dangerous it could be. Maybe no one would recognize him as a scion of one of the wealthiest families on Earth, but people had been killed for twenty dollars or even their sneakers.

"How about, instead of a run, we have a game of touch football in the park?" Jeff asked as he finished a cup of coffee.

"There are only three of us, Dad," Alan objected.

"No problem," Jeff said. "Age and wisdom against two fast blondes – it'll be a cinch."

"Oh, you are going down, old man," John crowed. "C'mon, Sprout – let's get changed and show him that we may be blonde, but we still can out think the rest of the family combined."

As the brothers dashed off to put on shorts and sneakers – Alan complaining for John not to call him "Sprout" - Jeff sighed. Picking up the last of the dishes, he loaded the dishwasher and set it to run before heading to change himself. All of his sons were bright, but John's – and he suspected, Alan's – IQ was through the roof. The two of them against him?

He was doomed.

* * *

Almost three hours later, Jeff's supposition was correct. Currently, his son's were winning twenty seven to six and he suspected that one goal had been a sympathy touch down.

John and Alan bumped fists after scoring again. "Ready to admit defeat, Dad?" Alan called out as Jeff glared at his youngest.

"No way!" Jeff responded trying to get the football from his sons, only to slip in the still-wet grass and head face-first into a mud puddle.

"Uncle," Jeff mumbled as he wiped mud from his face, grimacing as he realized that his hands were filthy as well.

"How about we get a bite to eat?" John suggested. When Jeff looked at him in surprise, John shrugged. "Hey, breakfast was a while ago."

"I am not going anywhere," Jeff countered, "until I get cleaned up. And I'm not really that hungry yet.'

"Well," Alan drawled, "we can grab a snack while you hit the showers. John and I really should change before we go to lunch."

Nodding, Jeff headed back to the apartment while his sons started towards one of the many vendors set up along the street.

John pulled out his wallet as they approached one only to sigh. "Damn. I forgot – I used up my cash yesterday. I have to hit the ATM."

Seeing the bank down the street, the brothers headed that way. "C'mon, John," Alan called as he dashed ahead. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we eat."

Laughing, John kept pace with his brother, smiling all the way. This was turning into a perfect vacation.

* * *

John groaned in frustration. Computers were _supposed _to make your life easier. How hard should it be? He walked up to the ATM, he slipped his card in, he punched in the same PIN he had used since he got the account at age seventeen, he pressed the "quick cash – forty dollars" option…

And the freakin' machine ate his card.

Entering the bank, Alan was trying not to laugh. But John really had gotten hungry and the ATM was the only thing standing between him and food. Not a smart move to get between a Tracy and food.

Walking up to the receptionist, John gave his best "Tracy smile". "Excuse me," he began, looking at the name plate before continuing, "Lisa. I just tried to use the ATM and it ate my card."

Sighing, Lisa pulled out a small stack of forms and a pen, handing them to John without really looking at him. "Fill these out, bring them back to any cashier and your new card will be delivered to your home address in seven to ten business days."

"Wait, your machine eats my card, there is plenty of money in my account and the best you can do is give me an hour's worth of work and not even say "have a nice day"? My family has been a valued customer of this bank for years; I would appreciate a smile or a nod." John glared at the receptionist before sighing.

"May I speak with a manager?" John asked, trying to regain his composure – and equally trying to ignore Alan's smirk behind him.

Lisa sighed once more, picking up a phone and pressing a line. "Mr. Mosley? A customer is demanding to see you?" She hung up the phone and continued to ignore John.

Alan was trying not to laugh at his usually unflappable brother, tempted to remind John that Alan had an ATM card as well. But seeing John get mad was worth the wait.

"Is there a problem?" The bank manager, the brothers assumed, came from the few offices in the back of the building.

"Yes," John said coolly, cutting of the receptionist. "I went to use your ATM, your machine ate it. I would like to get access to my account."

"John really is usually more polite than that," a voice whispered behind Alan. The teen turned to see a young woman with strawberry blonde hair grin at him.

"Do I know you?" Alan asked warily.

The woman chuckled. "Alan – it's Casey Patrick – Carl Patrick's daughter?"

"Oh, yeah," Alan grinned, remembering the head of security at Tracy Industries. Carl Patrick had worked for Jeff for years. Casey had also baby-sat Alan a few times the summer they had lived in New York. "What are you doing here?"

"Summer job updating the computer system, in between semesters at Cal-Sci," Casey cheerfully answered. Seeing the condescending way the manager was treating John, Casey sighed. "I better go save Mosley's ass."

Walking up to the pair, Casey cheerfully spoke. "Um, Mr. Mosley – John is the son of the bank's single largest depositor. You may want to put on your happy face."

"Listen, Macy -"

"It's Casey," the young woman corrected.

"Our single largest depositor is -"

"Jeff Tracy and/ or Tracy Industries," Casey interrupted then pulled a book from a large bag slung over her shoulder. "Take a look."

Looking at the book, Alan held back his laughter at seeing John's latest book – complete with author's picture and bio on the inside flap.

Donald Mosley became slightly pale, relieved that no one but the intern had overheard the conversation, even Lisa having left to grab a cup of coffee. "Um, Mr. Tracy -"

The manager was struggling for words, as Alan was surprised that John hadn't said "Mr. Tracy is my father" as he usually would. But then again, John wasn't feeling very charitable at the moment.

John wasn't. The manager had, unfortunately, reminded him strongly of the salesman from the evening before. Looking over at his younger brother, John decided he didn't want to read the man the riot act in public.

"Can we continue this is your office?" John asked coolly. "Alan?"

"I've got him, John," Casey said cheerfully. "C'mon, Alan – there are snacks left over from the staff meeting this morning. And the soda machine is broke, so we stocked the fridge. Its store brand, but it's better than nothing."

Alan smiled at his brother and winked. "It's cool, John. I've got some tunes." The teenager waved his phone, one especially designed by Brains, to include an MP-4 and ear buds that pulled out of a hidden compartment.

John gave a quick smile before motioning to the manager. Following Mr. Mosley into the man's office, John grimaced silently. He didn't like pulling the "name" card, as his family phrased it, but if doing this changed the attitudes of those involved, maybe it would be worth it.

That and John really was getting hungry.

Lisa headed back towards her desk, nodding at Marie, the new head teller. Looking around, she softly spoke. "Did you see where Mr. Mosley went?"

Marie nodded. "He and that young man you were talking to went back to his office. Mr. Mosley seemed rattled."

Frowning, the receptionist moved back to her desk, setting down her coffee. She could only hope it hadn't actually offended anyone important. After all, it was the end of the week and the last thing she needed was to get lectured before taking off this weekend. Something like that could really spoil her day.

Outside the bank, three masked figures moved quickly into the lobby. One person raised an automatic weapon and fired several shots into the ceiling.

"Drop to the floor," the gunman screamed.

Lisa spilled her coffee over her skirt as she fell to the ground.

OK, her day was officially spoiled.

* * *

_**A/N - And the action has begun. BTW - some of you may recall Carl Patrick from my first Thunderbirds story - The Greatest Gift. He is Head of Security for Tracy Enterprises. See you next Friday, CC**_


	4. Chapter 4

____________

____

**Alan and John Walk Into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - No.**_

_**A/N - Don't worry - I'll still do the conversation at the end of the chapter. It is an even numbered one. But I wanted to explain why the week of silence. And I apologize - I got all your reviews and I am very grateful for them, they brightened my week considerably. In order to post sooner, I may not answer right off, but will if I can later. Now, on for my whining and explaining.**_

_**As some of you who have followed me know, two years ago, my father was diagnosed with lymphoma. Now, cancer is not something that my family has had to deal with a lot. Heart conditions six ways to Sunday, sure - but not cancer. Dad had surgery and chemo and seemed to be doing well. Last summer there was a small setback but still - plenty of people beat cancer, right?**_

_**My Dad will not be one of them. **_

_**Oh, he is still alive. He probably has several years ahead. But the doctors have told him that treatment will keep the cancer in check for now but that it will never be beaten. So I have been trying to deal with that reality. It sucks. I have often said my Dad was one of the last truly good men left on the Earth. He gave us some of the most precious gifts a father can give their children. A name to be proud of. How much he loved our Mom. And the ability to fail, knowing when we did, he would be the first to say I told you so. Then when we were ready, he would help us figure out how to fix things. So I have spent a lot of time reading, spending time with my family and working of course. Anything not to deal with how big a hole will be in my life when I lose him.**_

_**I hope to keep the story on track again. Sorry for the delay - but real life does stink sometimes.**_

_**Thanks to Sammygirl1963 and Sam1 for keeping me from a complete and utter nervous breakdown. I love you both more than words can ever say.**_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

A few minutes earlier

John Tracy, as any of his brothers would say, was the one brother you didn't want mad at you. Any of the Tracys had impressive tempers, but John was slow to anger. And like a potion that had been slow brewed, it could be far more dangerous than one that had come to a rapid boil.

Not to mention the brain power that accompanied the inevitable payback.

Jeff had definitely gotten the worst of playing football on muddy grass but John and Alan hadn't come out totally unscathed. A part of John could understand the reactions of the receptionist and the bank manager. He had muddy streaks on his clothes, grass stains on his sneakers and had obviously worked up a sweat. But John had learned long ago that appearances could be deceiving and, in business, jumping to conclusions could be a costly mistake. It was a kindness for him to teach that lesson.

And John was nothing if not kind.

"Mr. Tracy," Donald Mosley practically whimpered, "I can assure you if I had known -"

"Are you usually abusive to customers?" John snapped. "Or only the ones that you don't think add to your bottom line?"

"Mr. Tracy -"

"I'm sure you are about to whimper and complain and assure me that you hold my family and I in the highest esteem," John snapped sarcastically. "My family never uses our name or so-called position to push people around. It's not our style. But so far this week, two people have taken one look at myself or a family member and found us as less than desirable to be in their presence. I'm beginning to see why Dad prefers living on an island."

Mr. Mosley looked on in panic, unsure what he should say or do.

John, his initial burst of anger having faded, looked at the manager in disgust before pulling his wallet out. "Look, I have my ID on me. I know you have thumb-print technology in all branches, so why don't I just get a couple of hundred dollars out? I'll just use a credit card the rest of the weekend and transfer money over later."

"Yes, Mr. Tracy, of course," Mosley babbled. "I have the form right here and here is a print scanner," he continued as he pulled a small device from his desk.

John set his wallet on the desk as he filled out the form and scanned his thumb. He tried not to feel smug as the bank manager scuttled about, reminding the second Tracy son of an insect.

"If you wait right here, Mr. Tracy," Mosley babbled once more, "I'll get your funds and I can assure you the request for a replacement ATM card will be expedited."

Watching the man scurry out of the room, John shook his head. "Alan was right," he joked to the empty room. "Channeling Scott can make things easier. I must use this power for good!" Chuckling, John leaned back in the chair, hoping when he went to grab Alan there was something he could snag as well. He really was getting hungry.

A sudden burst of gunfire made John jump. Alan!

* * *

Casey Patrick smiled as she placed a diet coke and pointed to the snacks on the table, nodding in approval when Alan bypassed the donuts and other sweets for a granola bar and an apple.

Alan bit into the apple and took a swig of the soda even as he pulled out his ear buds, scrolling through the menu on his custom made phone and began to listen to music. Behind him, Casey poured out the old coffee and began to make a new pot. It really wasn't in her job description but her father had always told her that a team player was someone who took on all tasks.

A sudden burst of gunfire startled Casey. Grabbing Alan by the arm, she yanked the teenager from his seat. Ignoring the spilled soda and the apple, missing one bite, rolling across the floor, Casey pulled Alan into a nearby storage closet. Shutting the door behind them, she waited with a hand over Alan's mouth, praying that they wouldn't be discovered.

* * *

Donald Mosley had just re-entered the lobby of the bank, silently cussing to himself. Although he referred to himself as bank manager, branch manager was a more appropriate title. But Donald Mosley was a man of no small ambition and he did not plan on being an insignificant cog in the big wheel for long.

This particular branch of Metro-United Bank was small by most standards, with one loan officer and five full time tellers. But it was significant for two reasons. One, it was the closest bank to Tracy Towers, so not only did the company do business with the bank as a whole, many of its employees banked with MUB due to ease of access. The other important reason was that all the old or damaged bills from all fifty eight branches of Metro-United Banks were delivered here once a month to be picked up by the U.S. Mint.

Lost in thoughts of how he had angered a member of the Tracy family – and hoping that it wouldn't have repercussions on his career - Mosley never took in the sight of three figures quickly moving into the bank.

The sound of gunfire caused Mosley to freeze in his tracks. Following the sound, he saw the three masked men and followed instructions when one screamed, "Drop to the ground!"

He so did not want to file this report with the Board of Directors.

_

* * *

_

Emily Haas set down the latest charts from the Emergency Room, wondering once more if she should take Mr. Tracy up on his offer.

_Laughing at something Alan had said, Emily had missed part of the conversation John was having with her father until her boyfriend said, "What do you think, Emmy?"_

_Turning from the other Tracys, Emily smiled and took John's hand. "Sorry, John – what were you saying?"_

_Jeff laughed as John seemed more interested in tracing his thumb over the back of Emily's hand. "Emily, I was talking about the work Tracy Charities has been doing on the coastal communities that were devastated by the tsunami."_

_Emily instantly sobered. As an emergency medical specialist, she had been among the first responders to the region. While a good portion of the population had been evacuated thanks to the Pacific Early Warning System, put into place after the Indonesian Tsunami of Christmas 2004, some were killed._

_There had been a small portion of the region that hadn't been notified of the potential tsunami due to the earthquake that had triggered it in the first place. Communications were down in the village of Akora, New Zealand. Emily had once mentioned it had been a shame that International Rescue had been off-line at the time but seeing how the thought had bothered the Tracys she had never said anything further about it. The young doctor assumed the family did not want to be reminded how Alan had been in the hospital during that time period. It was possible the seventeen people who had died and the almost hundred injured may not have been able to be saved and the property damage was definitely something that the Thunderbirds couldn't have helped._

_"Emily," John started, "Dad has been tossing the idea around of establishing a medical clinic as part of the rebuilding of Akora. We thought you might like to take charge."_

_"Mr. Tracy," Emily said, "with all due respect, I am an Emergency Medicine Specialist. I'd be a bit of overkill."_

_"According to John, you would like to someday be the kind of doctor your grandfather was, an old-fashioned GP. But at the same time, your work at Mercy General and Cedar Sinai in Los Angeles has put you in contact with some of the finest specialists in the world. What if you could pull them in, a kind of Doctors without Borders project, getting the care for the more remote areas of New Zealand?"_

_Emily nodded, letting the Tracys know that she wanted to consider the idea._

Pulling herself from her musings, Emily peeked once more at her i-phone, wondering why John hadn't called her back yet. John had asked her to accompany him to New York but considering it was where her family lived, Emily avoided the Big Apple like the plague. Part of the young doctor was relieved after John decided to bring his brother with him. Emily adored Alan but there was no way she would sleep separately from John. And Jeff Tracy would have a fit if she had shared quarters with his son before marriage.

Tough. Emily Haas was in love and could only hope that John felt it as deeply as she did. She couldn't picture a life without him.

John had sent a text earlier and said he would call after he played a game of touch football in the park with his father and brother. Slipping the phone back into the pocket of her smock, Emily tried to push down the cold feeling. Something, she was sure, something was wrong.

* * *

Alan had tried to fight Casey when she pulled him back until he realized who had grabbed him. Curiosity kept him silent until they were secure in the storage closet.

"Casey," he hissed. "What is your major malfunction?"

"Didn't you hear the gunfire?" Casey whispered back sharply.

"Gunfire?" Alan said, his voice rising slightly before Casey returned her hand to cover the teen's mouth.

"Yes, gunfire," Casey responded. "Now, keep quiet." She pulled out her cell phone before cursing softly.

"What?" Alan asked.

"No signal," Casey said. "They are probably using a cell phone jammer." Looking at an electrical panel behind her, she shook her head. "They also cut the communication lines. No computer or land line phones. They couldn't do it physically. But one of the things that are supposed to be being upgraded in the computer system was better firewalls to block people from accessing the programs. That's the only thing that makes sense."

Alan pulled up his phone, quickly switching it from music mode to phone mode.

"What are you doing?" Casey hissed. "I just told you, we can't call out."

"Satellite phone," Alan said calmly. "Doesn't rely on cell towers but accesses a satellite so it should – yes!" he hissed in triumph. Handing Casey the phone, she smiled in appreciation.

When the 911 operator came on line, Casey began to give the information before hanging up against the woman's instructions. Hiding the phone in her pocket, the young woman didn't want it to be found on the teenager in case the invaders found them.

* * *

Lisa Bloom had been cowering on the floor, when a hand grabbed her by the collar, pulling her up. Her bad day had officially gotten worse as a semi-automatic weapon was shoved in her face.

"Where's the manager?" the gunman snarled.

Holding out a trembling hand out, Lisa started to point towards Mr. Mosley's office only to shift and point at the manager himself.

At a gesture from the robber who was holding Lisa, a second gunman approached Mosley. Grabbing him by the arm, he smacked the manager across the face with the butt of his gun, with the criminal growling, "Where is the mint delivery?"

"It-it's not here," Mosley stammered out.

"Liar!"

The third criminal, who had remained silent up until now, snarled as he – she? The voice had been rather higher in pitch. – stalked forward.

"I had all the info. The money from all the Metro Union Banks should have been delivered here over the last week. It's due to be picked up at noon."

The branch manager gasped in pain when his arm was twisted behind his back.

"They picked it up this morning. A tech working on the computer system discovered what she believed to be a virus in the system and they changed the time of pick-up. The money was gone before we opened the bank. Marie," Mr. Mosley gestured towards the teller, "was the witness. She can tell you."

The middle aged woman looked up from where she had been crouched on the floor. "It's true," the teller said calmly. "The money is gone. We only have what is on site."

"The paperwork is -" Mosley paused, remembering that Jeff Tracy's son was in his office. Not willing to endanger the offspring of their largest depositor, the manager tried to direct the robbers' attention elsewhere.

"I have the e-mail on my smart phone," Mosley offered, pulling the phone out of his jacket pocket. He paled as he tried to bring up the message.

"I – I can't seem to get a signal -"

"Jammers working," one of the gunman shrugged.

The one who sounded as if it might be a woman growled, "Well, at least one thing is going right. Go into the office," she gestured with her weapon. "Find out if this jackass is telling the truth."

"He is," John said calmly as he exited the office.

* * *

Having cracked open the door in an attempt to try and hear what was going on, Casey had to once more throw a hand over Alan's mouth to stop the teenager from calling out when he heard his brother's voice. Pulling Alan further into the storage room, she hissed in his ear.

"Alan, they were going to go into the office," Casey explained in low tones. "If John hadn't come out, they would have probably hurt him. It was the smartest thing he could do. Have a little faith in your brother. More importantly – Don't do anything that could distract him."

Nodding tightly, Alan began to chew at his inner cheek, a nervous tick he had never out grown. He knew that if he were to be discovered, John would head into big-brother mode and possibly endanger himself in an effort to protect Alan. The teenager could still recall when he had been injured – _such a nice way of recalling being run down and left to die – _and later, by a series of convoluted events, he had been threatened by a deranged gang-leader, John had actually fought with the armed man, resulting in John receiving four stitches from a switchblade.

Glancing at his watch, wishing desperately that Brains had finished with those communication watches already, Alan suddenly had a random thought run through his head.

_"I wonder when Dad will notice we aren't back yet?"_

_

* * *

_Jeff Tracy stepped out of the bedroom, rubbing a towel over his head. A private bathroom had been essential when he had designed the penthouse apartment for Tracy Towers. But he had been wondering if he had missed his sons return while showering.

Looking around the apartment, Jeff frowned when he realized he was still the sole occupant. Heading into the bedroom, the worried father quickly changed into a pair of khakis and a polo shirt. He called down to Ann Marie, having her check to see if his sons had come through security.

"Nothing, Ann Marie?" Jeff asked again as he pulled on some sneakers.

"I'm sorry, Jeff," the long-time employee looked as worried as her boss. "I can contact the police -"

"No, Ann Marie," Jeff sighed. "John is an adult. Alan is a teenager. I could report them as missing and no one would take me seriously. Or worse, if they did and the boys did just lose track of time, it will probably get leaked to the media and I will either be a control freak of a parent or some rich guy treating the cops as my personal security."

"It may be something simple, like they needed cash or something," Ann Marie mused before brightening. "Do you want me to run their credit or debit cards?"

"Do my sons know I can track them that easily?" Jeff asked.

"I'll never tell," the PA said cheerfully.

* * *

John moved closer into the lobby, holding his arms slightly away from his body, showing that he was no threat. One of the gunmen grabbed him by the arm and threw him roughly to the ground. Managing to get up as far as his knees, John kept his arms out to maintain his unarmed state.

A second robber had made his way through the doorway John had exited, returning a moment later with a piece of paper in his hand.

"He's telling the truth, Sher," the man grumbled, handing the print-out to the leader. The gunman who was keeping a gun pointed at John and Mosley, smacking the first man.

"Idiot," the man snarled.

The leader moved towards John and Mosley, saying quietly, "I planned this for months. Months of work gone to waste. I'm not happy. People don't like when I'm not happy."

She raised her gun towards the kneeling pair and fired –

* * *

**_A/N - OK, now wasn't that worth the wait? And to think - you only have to wait a week to find out what happens next._**

**_Alan - A WEEK? Lady, if you just shot John -_**

**_CC - Well, if I did - he'll live. No deathfics, remember?_**

**_John - And that is the good news, right? And why didn't I do anything else?_**

**_CC - I'll explain all that later. _**

**_Alan - CC, I am worried you may be developing a few mental issues._**

**_CC - Been there, done that, bought the T-Shirt._**

**_John - Definately scary, definately._**

**_CC - Dude, I just implied you are getting some action - Do you really wanna do anything to make that stop?_**

**_Alan - Of course he is getting some action. (CC and John look at him, jaws dropped.) He's in the middle of a bank robbery, and someone just fired a gun!_**

**_CC (Whispers to John) - Is he for real?_**

**_John - Either Scott has succeeded in keeping him naive or I am never playing poker with him._**

**_CC - Well, I'll - wait, you play poker? (The brothers nod.) Sweet! (Grabs some cards and heads to a table that has chips, salsa and sweet tea.) OK, I win - I'll do what I want. You win, I'll let you whine about it._**

**_Alan (sighs) - That's the best answer we'll get, isn't it? (CC nods and Alan sighs once more. CC slaps John's hand.)_**

**_CC - John, those m&m's are the pot. Don't eat them. (At John's stare, CC smiles.) Hey, I will not corrupt Alan. Injury, sicken or otherwise traumatize but never corrupt._**

**_John (shrugging) - Sounds about right. OK, Aces high and Jacks are wild..._**


	5. Chapter 5

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - I do not now, nor ever have, owned the Thunderbirds.**_

_**Just wanted to give a quick "thank you" for all the support I have received since posting chapter 4. It makes me feel better that if there are any other delays due to the trauma and drama of real life - most of you will understand. Now - On with the show.**_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Alan would have cried out had it not been for the hand pressed tightly against his mouth. Sounds and voices were muffled beyond the door, but he knew he had heard his brother and now he knew he had heard the sound of gunfire.

Casey Patrick held onto the teenager, hating herself for holding him the way she was, but knowing that if she let go Alan would dash into the fray, trying to rush to John's aid.

"Alan," she hissed in his ear. "You can't do anything at this point. Stay still and the police will be here soon."

Nodding, Alan bit the inside of his cheek once more. If he kept it up, he would pierce the tender skin inside his mouth. Feeling Casey drop her hand from his mouth, Alan allowed the young woman to pull him deeper into the closet. He did feel some relief that the police were on their way. But he would feel better if it was his family.

* * *

John stared in horror as Donald Mosley's body dropped lifelessly to the ground. He could feel the man's blood, still warm from having been pumping through a living being just seconds earlier, on his face. The astronomer knew that if he looked down he would see bits of flesh and smeared blood mixed with the dirt and grass stains on his once pale blue shirt. But John couldn't tear his eyes from the lead gunman.

The eyes that could be seen behind the mask frightened John. They reminded him of the cold gaze of the Hood. This was a person who believed they were right, that they were entitled to whatever they wanted, and the rest of the universe be damned. People were as disposable as a box of Kleenex – new or used.

Lisa Bloom began to scream hysterically, jumping to her feet and trying to make a run for it. Only the teller who had been identified as Marie earlier, by moving and distracting the robbers, saved the receptionist from a bullet in the back.

Unfortunately, the young woman could not be saved from her own vanity. The six inch heels on her Jimmy Choo wrap around sandals – a steal at only three hundred dollars from Nieman Marcus and the only decent thing she brought back from her trip to Vegas earlier that year – snapped, throwing her forward. While the shoes may have made her legs look fantastic, the glass counter Lisa fell into chipped her flawlessly white, exquisitely capped front teeth. Dazed, the receptionist fell to the floor face first, smashing her nose onto marble floor.

"My nose," she whimpered, rolling onto her back, a perfectly manicured hand trying to hold the blood back. "I broke my nose."

"No," John said calmly, casting an expert glance over the woman. "You just have a bloody nose. Your teeth, however – those are broken. Well, chipped."

"Forget about all this," one of the gunmen hissed at the leader. "A few grand ain't worth twenty to forty in stir."

The second gunman groaned in annoyance – his compatriot had gotten hooked on old black and white flicks on the classic movie channel, which was reflected in his current lexicon. Glancing over at their leader, he noted with relief that she seemed inclined to agree when a sound from outside the bank drew both of their attention. Two NYPD cruisers were pulling up outside of the bank and the officers jumped out, hands on their service weapons as they approached the building.

In this situation, with the prize they had sought beyond their grasp, and an easy escape denied to them, the leader had only one thing to say.

"Shit."

* * *

Emily Haas had finished with a patient before handing him off to a neuro surgeon, glancing at her i-Phone again. Still no call from John, which, considering how precise and considerate her boyfriend was made her extra concerned.

"_Maybe I should call him?" _The young doctor mused before groaning at the voice she heard next.

"Dr. Haas," Dr. Marcus Brady, Chief of Staff for Mercy General, beamed in satisfaction. "The staff meeting is due to start in a few minutes -"

"Well, that's good to know, Dr. Brady," Emily interrupted. "But -"

"Now, I know the Emergency Room can call you if needed, and you are all caught up on reports," the Chief of Staff continued, ignoring Emily's interruption. "And I really want your input on a few things." Taking the phone from her hand, he returned it to her smock pocket. "Now, please follow me."

Sighing in frustration, Emily followed Dr. Brady to the meeting. Hopefully, John would call and Emily could slip out of the conference room. She really did loathe staff meetings.

* * *

Scott Tracy was testing a control panel on Thunderbird One. Looking at his watch, he tried to calculate the time difference.

"_Man, if I call once more just to check on them – John wouldn't really take me up to Five and leave me there for a month, would he?"_

Chuckling, the oldest Tracy son continued his work. He had never slept much but knowing Alan was off the Island and out of his sphere of protection, was making the sleep all the harder to obtain.

"_I'll be glad when Alan heads back to school," _Scott thought. _"At least I'll know he is safe and I can relax."_

Trying not to think of what happened the last time Alan was at Wharton's, Scott refocused on his work. He wanted his 'bird to be ready in case a rescue call came in.

But as he tested another circuit, the oldest Tracy son tried to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the one that whispered something was wrong with one of his brothers.

* * *

The leader moved swiftly, whirling around as she glared in fury.

"Which one of you idiots called the cops? Well, who thought they were the hero?"

One of her associates became desperate, running towards the door. Yanking it open, he began to fire at the approaching officers.

Through the large tinted windows, John could see one police officer drop to the ground and three crouch on the sidewalk before sliding behind their vehicles, dragging their fallen comrade with them.

Looking over at John, the leader stalked towards the astronomer. Using the butt of her semi-automatic pistol, she knocked him down. Forcing himself back to his knees, John glared at her even as blood trickled from his split lip.

"Were you the hero?" she growled. "You were back in the office. Did you call the cops before you came out?"

"I tried," John admitted. "But the phone in the manager's office needed a security code. And I forgot my phone back at the apartment."

"Wouldn't have mattered," the associate who had not shot anyone snapped. "The blocker wouldn't have let any cell phone calls out."

Deciding it wasn't prudent to explain that his satellite phone wouldn't be blocked by a cell phone blocker, John just shrugged. "Did you think of the fact that the shades are open and someone passing by may have seen you blowing holes into the ceiling _may _have tipped someone off?"

The leader turned to the happy trigger man, snarling as she waved her weapon in his direction. "Be useful for once in your sorry life and close those shades."

Running towards the windows, the criminal looked over his shoulder. "I don't see any cords! What do I do?"

"Press the button," Lisa spoke up with a whine in her voice, pointing at an orange button right in front of the man.

Pressing the button, blinds slid out of the wall, covering the windows and blocking the view from the street. Lisa, busy trying to stem the blood still trickling from her nose, ignored the glares from her fellow hostages.

"Now seriously," the leader said in a pseudo-reasonable voice, "who called the cops. We cut the security system and blocked the phones. Who f'ing called the cops!" she finished with a scream, spittle flying from behind her mask.

"I told you," John said calmly. "Someone probably saw it from the street."

The leader walked back over to John, glaring down at him. Kicking him in the stomach she screamed, "If I want your opinion, I'll beat it out of you!" Grasping her weapon, she hit John in the back of the head, wondering if it would be worth it to kill this idiot as well.

* * *

Alan heard John's calm voice, if not the words, straining to hear what was going on out there.

"I need to get out there!" Alan hissed.

"No you don't," Casey whispered back. "What would your brothers do to protect you?"

Thinking of how John had stood between him and a madman with a weapon once before, Alan nodded. John was in danger now, but at least he only had to worry about himself. If Alan was out there, his brother would be trying to protect Alan even more. John was safer with his brother out of the fray. But, if the opportunity presented itself, Alan was definitely going to jump in.

* * *

"Jeff," Ann-Marie greeted her boss when he called back. "I found that John tried to use his ATM card at the Metro-United Bank that is across from Tracy Towers. The odd thing is, his card is acknowledged as being used but no transaction was recorded."

Jeff was puzzled by that. Even in the bizarre chance that John had no funds in his account, each of his sons' accounts were linked to the main family account. Why would John not take some money out?

"He didn't do anything," Ann-Marie answered, surprising Jeff when she answered, making him blush slightly when he realized he had spoken out loud. "He didn't check his balance or anything. I think the machine ate the card."

"John's gonna love that," Jeff joked. "He was hungry."

"Should I check to make sure the bank is still standing?"

Jeff chuckled. "Nah. But it does explain what is taking so long. John must have had to go into the bank. Still – he should have let me know."

"Jeff," Ann-Marie asked, "why not just call John and see when he'll be back?" Seeing Jeff's face begin to blush, she laughed. "You didn't even think of calling him?"

Hanging up on his assistant – who would make him pay for that later – Jeff called John's phone only to hear it ring on the breakfast bar. "Damn," he muttered, before disconnecting. "I'll try Alan's," the father said aloud, his voice echoing in the empty apartment, more concerned than before but not sure he could say why...

* * *

John bit his lip, his body aching as much as it had when the Hood had attacked. And once more, he was scared, knowing that he was vulnerable to the whims of a lunatic. Worse, Alan was at risk. And again, he was helpless –

The whole lobby froze at the faint ringing of a phone from the break room…

* * *

_**A/N - OK, it wasn't very long but that was a good spot to end it. Hope you like it. - CC**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**_

_**by Criminally Charmed**_

_**Disclaimer - If wishes were horses, beggers would ride...But I would prefer the horse to be a Mustang, prefer cherry red. Like the Horseman had on Supernatural. Since I drive a Cobalt with more than two years of payments still to go, I think we can establish I don't own Thunderbirds.**_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Sherrie Joyce was furious. Nothing was going as planned. She had worked on this scheme for over three months, ever since Kevin Thompson had told about how the security company he worked for picked up the worn-out money for all of the Metro-United Banks from that one location.

_Sitting at the bus stop in front of her apartment, Sherrie tried to keep reading her copy of Glamour magazine, while her neighbor, Kevin Thompson kept trying to engage her in conversation. Seeing the pen Sherrie was using to make notes, the ex-high school gridiron star saw his chance at an opening._

"_Hey, that's one of those pens with a shredded hundred dollar bill in it, isn't it?" Kevin asked. When Sherrie nodded vaguely, the pen having been a gag gift from her boss last Christmas – her Holiday "bonus" – Kevin continued._

"_Yeah, I wonder if I ever handled that bill." At Sherrie's confused glance, Kevin was encouraged to go forward. "I work for Trinity Armored Cars. We pick up money at all of the Metro-United Banks in the city and bring them to this one little bank downtown. In fact, money is even brought to other banks from outside New York and collected. But that contract goes to another security company."_

"_But what you're saying," Sherrie mused, "is that all that money – probably up to millions of dollars – can be found at one branch of Metro-Union Banks."_

"_Yeah. Once a month. The day is random; no one knows what date until after the previous pick-up. It can be anywhere from three to five weeks between pick-ups. But all of it ends up in that one spot. Can you imagine how sweet that would be to grab hold of that money? I mean, no one has the serial numbers; the exact amount isn't even totaled until it reaches the Treasury. It would be like free money."_

Sherrie met with Kevin again that evening, filling the time with "what if's" and "do you think?" in an effort to find out if it could be pulled off. It wasn't until Kevin mentioned a former high school classmate of his worked for Metro United Bank in their Tech Support Department, dealing with the phones and computers that the last piece of the puzzle came together for Sherrie.

Once the duo had Michael "Mac" McKenzie on board, there was no going back. It should have been a flawless plan, executed without fail and allowing the three to have their hearts desires with the money that no one would miss, right?

Glaring around the bank lobby, Sherrie was desperate and furious, ready to shoot someone else – preferably the blonde guy in front of her – when the sound of a phone ringing in the building drew her attention.

* * *

John froze when the faint sound of the march their father favored as his personal ring tone – and one he had programmed into each of his sons' phones to identify his calls – rang out across the lobby. Without his phone, the odds of anyone else were having that particular ringtone bordered on astronomical.

"_Oh, God," _John thought in anguish. _"Alan. They're gonna find Alan. And I can't do a damn thing."_

* * *

Casey froze when she heard the ring tone echo out on the phone in her pocket. Glancing quickly over her shoulder, she placed one hand on the door and the other on Alan's arm. Pulling the teenager further into the storage bin, Casey softly said, "Stay here and stay quiet."

When Alan looked to argue, Casey grumbled, "Dammit Alan – just do what I say."

Slipping out of the closet, Casey locked the door behind her and tried to make herself as small as possible in a corner. She knew that the boxes stacked in the corner would give herself a brief respite, as well as a plausible defense for her "hiding place".

* * *

Sherrie looked away from the aristocratic blonde she had been considering killing before she had been so rudely interrupted. Glancing back at Kevin and Mac, she gestured her gun towards the back of the bank.

"Go find out who decided not to join our little party and extend an invitation, will you, boys?"

The two men nodded and headed back towards the break room, missing the terrified look on John's face at the knowledge that Alan was about to be dragged into this nightmare.

* * *

Mac entered the room, determined to enter first and keep Kevin from going postal on whoever was hiding in here.

Looking around, Mac spotted a clog sticking out at the edge of a stack of cardboard boxes. Striding over quickly, Mac grabbed an arm and pulled Casey out.

"Hand it over," he growled.

Casey looked up at Mac, her eyes wide with anxiety and some genuine confusion. "Hand what over?" She asked.

Shaking his head, Mac gave her a quick pat-down like he had seen on cop shows while growing up. Feeling the small rectangular object in Casey's pocket, he slipped his hand into the pocket and pulled out the phone.

"Huh," Mac huffed, not spotting a name on the phone. It struck him as a bit odd, but he lightly touched the controls, finding the last call in the system.

"Dad, huh?" Mac asked. Shrugging when Casey didn't respond, he pulled her out to the lobby. "Daddy will regret this," Mac said in his most dangerous voice.

Casey knew that it was true. If Jeff Tracy knew that his call had endangered his baby, she wasn't sure if the billionaire could deal with that.

* * *

Alan was ready to pound on the door, but contented himself with listening as best he could. _Well, _he thought morosely. _There were no more gunshots._

But as soon as Alan was sure that the intruders and Casey were gone, the teenager began to examine the electronic lock. To the average person, there would be no getting out of the supply closet. For most people, it would be in their best interest to sit down, shut up and try not to completely freak out.

Alan figured out he should be freed within twenty minutes. Tops.

* * *

Jeff looked at the phone in dismay. It wasn't like Alan to ignore his calls. He tried not to worry. But at two dozen years of experience being a father told him not to disregard his concerns.

Picking up a copy of one of his favorite pictures of all five of his sons, taken after Spring Break, showed the boys right after they cleaned up after their first joint rescue. Seeing the supportive, loving arm that John had around his youngest brother's shoulders, made Jeff smile. If there was anything wrong, Jeff could be sure that John would protect Alan.

But – who would protect John?

* * *

Casey stumbled a bit as the two men dragged her towards Sherrie. The woman glared at Casey, before grabbing her by the chin. Pointing the semi-auto weapon at Casey's chin, Sherrie nudged the woman before growling, "Did you call the cops?"

Knowing that the underlings had Alan's phone, she shrugged. "Yes. Did you think anyone who had a chance wouldn't?"

Releasing Casey's chin, Sherrie picked up her weapon and smashed the woman across the face. The blinding pain caused Casey to drop to the ground, clutching her face and holding back the tears, refusing to let the criminal witness her agony.

Sherrie raised her gun, waving it between Casey and John. "You are giving me a very hard choice to make. Do I kill the jerk who reminds me so much of my ex-boss, who I always fantasized about killing? Or do I kill the bitch who messed up my get away? Or maybe I should just kill both and eliminate my indecision. What do you think?"

Glaring at the pair, Sherrie began to slowly pull at the trigger…

* * *

A/N - There, I protected Alan. But now Casey is in jep as well. This was a short chapter but there were a bunch of flash scenes I needed to do...

Alan - Flash scenes or just not that much done?

CC (grumbles) - Give me a break. It was a rough week.

Alan - Well, I for one feel better.

CC - OK, that is a twist. I am making you feel better?

Alan - Yep. A bank robbery is automatically a federal crime. So Kate is on the way.

CC - Sorry, Sprout. But Kate, while she will kinda be here, won't be a major player.

Alan - Darn it. Kate would make a huge difference.

CC - By shooting the bad guys or sleeping with Scott?

Alan (shrugs) - Either one could save innocent lives.

Scott (entering) - Are you saying I'm difficult?

Alan - I woulnd't say that -

CC - I would. (Scott glares) Don't you be giving me any grief, Flyboy. The power of the pen - well, the kinetics of the keyboard - assures that I have the upper hand. Besides, you are about to go on a rescue, Scott. What kind of rescue do you want to do?

Alan - Huh, make it easy. John and I won't be trapped in there long, right?

CC - Less than a day. It will just take a while for me to write it. How about a cruise ship in danger? Or how about a small military training vessel? Or I could ask for suggestions.

Alan - So ask.

Scott - Alan are you encouraging her?

Alan - It's easier at times.

CC - Oh, live with it Scott. And I promise that you'll meet Kate eventually. And that she'll bring her handcuffs.

Alan (puzzled) - Why? Does she need to arrest someone?

CC (whispers) - You guys are keeping him way too innocent.

Scott - And it's gonna stay that way.

CC (sighs) - Fine. I'm gonna make breakfast. Anyone hungry? (When both Tracys beam, she shakes her head.) Puh-lease. That's like asking if they want to keep breathing. C'mon boys and I'll feed you before I go to work. Later folks!


	7. Chapter 7

**Alan and John Walk Into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - Don't own. On vacation, but I managed to get this out. Thanks to Sammygirl1963 and Sam1, both busy with work but still helping me out with my story. And all they ask for is to read the chapters in advance and know what is going to happen, which, if you notice in reviews, I usually won't do. As my daughter phrases it "What I do to keep you happy."**_**

* * *

**

Chapter Seven

"Sherrie, no!" Mac yelled as he moved over swiftly. Knocking the woman's gun aside, he glared at her from behind his mask. "Between the two of you, we are responsible for killing that guy," he nudged at the corpse of the bank manager before gesturing towards the door. "And shooting a cop. If we want to get out of this alive, having some of the hostages alive would help."

"We don't need all of them," Sherrie snarled.

"The more we have, the better our position," Mac said reasonably.

"Fine," Sherrie acquiesced reluctantly.

John released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Slowly lowering his hands from behind his head, he started to reach for Casey before pausing to check if the gunmen were going to do anything. Seeing the one who had prevented them from being shot give a small nod, John continued to bend down in order to assist Casey in sitting up right.

"OK," Casey muttered. "Not one of my better moments. I guess I said all the wrong things."

Looking over at the rapidly cooling body of the bank manager, John grimaced. "I'm not sure there could be a right thing to say in this particular situation."

"If I had thought about it," Casey said softly, "I would have hidden in the supply closet. It has an electronic lock on it."

John breathed out in relief. He correctly guessed that the young woman had hidden Alan in the closet. Alan should be safe in there.

As long as Alan stayed put.

* * *

Ann-Marie Thompson – no relation to the idiot robbing the bank at that moment, an event she was cheerfully unaware of – was fuming in her office. She loved her job and, in a non-romantic way, even loved her boss. The oldest of four children, Ann-Marie had found a protective big brother in her boss and was closer to his five sons than she was to her four nieces and five nephews. With the exception of one nephew who was in the Navy, her entire family was still back in Kansas. And not a one of them could push her buttons as quickly as Jeff Tracy could.

"He hung up on me," the personal assistant muttered for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes. "I know he was worried. Heck, he is making me worried. But I am not going to…OOH! I should go up there and wring his neck."

Before Ann-Marie could make good on her fantasy of knocking Jefferson Grant Tracy upside the head – repeatedly – the vid-phone on her desk buzzed, signaling a call from within the building. _"It better be you-know-who calling with a major apology," _Ann-Marie thought as she flipped it on.

The image of Carl Patrick, the Head of Security for Tracy Enterprises, looked grim on the screen. "Ann-Marie," he said calmly, "the police are here. They are saying we need to evacuate Tracy Towers. I wasn't sure how _high_ I should take this."

Instantly, with the comfort of having worked with someone for almost a decade, Ann-Marie understood. The fact that the top two floors of Tracy Towers was actually the Tracys' New York home. Jeff rarely advertised when he was going to be in New York for more than a day and with the meetings from yesterday over with, not even everyone who worked for the Tracys was aware Jeff was still there. And due to the fact he was here with his sons, Jeff would want to keep it quieter than usual.

"I'll be down in a minute," Ann-Marie said calmly. Carl nodded. He understood that Ann-Marie would want to assess the situation before alerting Jeff.

* * *

Jeff Tracy was becoming more worried by the minute. John had forgotten his phone, Alan wasn't answering his and there was no sign of either of his sons.

Just as Jeff was ready to call down to Ann-Marie – aware he was about to have to do some serious groveling – when the vid-phone buzzed. Sighing, the billionaire began to mentally prepare himself only to be surprised by who was actually on the vid.

"M-Mr. Tr-Tracy," Brains began. "H-How's M-M-M – New York?"

"Fine, Brains. How is work on the lab project?"

Brains smiled. "G-g-g…Excellent. F-Fermat has b-been a big h-help. I a-arranged for his s-school clothes t-to b-be d-d-d _sent_ to the I-Island, b-but they f-forgot one set. I t-t-told th-the st-store to include it w-with Alan's."

Jeff looked grim. "Yeah, Alan was measured yesterday for his school uniform. John took him out the first night we were here to get everything else. It's like he doesn't trust me to buy his clothes any more. What – Dad isn't cool enough?"

"H-he's a t-teenager," Brains grinned. "Y-you're not."

"I never had these problems with the others," Jeff grumbled. At Brains' raised eyebrows, Jeff shrugged. "OK, maybe I did. And maybe Alan just has more resources to turn to than his brothers did. And – I don't have a leg to stand on, do I?"

Shaking his head, Brains just smiled and signed off, leaving Jeff alone with his thoughts. He hoped he was overreacting, he hoped his sons would come in any minute and that they would spend the evening teasing him about his over protectiveness. But more than two decades of parenting had taught Jeff that there were times to be watchful, times to worry and times to completely panic.

Panic was looking like the odds-on favorite.

* * *

Scott Tracy was sitting in his father's office, planning on calling New York. The oldest Tracy son figured that he could reasonably argue that he just _happened _to be in the office and he just _happened _to call to see how things were going.

His hand was ghosting about the buttons to make the call when a different one came in. The in-coming call sound was different, indicating the call was coming from Thunderbird Five. Jeff had made sure that, on the rare occasion that someone who didn't know about International Rescue was on the Island, he could get them out of the way.

Answering the call, Scott smiled at the face of Fermat Hackenbacker on the screen. The younger boy was Alan's best friend and almost another little brother to the four older Tracy sons.

"Hey, Fermat," Scott greeted cheerfully. "You guys aren't due to call in for another three hours. What's up?"

"D-Dad is t-talking t-to a cr-cruise sh-ship c-c-captain," Fermat stuttered. "I'm s-sending you th-the c-c-c _location_, and the d-details."

Scott looked over the details and coordinates. A cruise ship, carrying over one thousand people had caught fire. Most of the passengers had been rescued after getting to life boats. But almost two hundred passengers and crew members were still on board and had been cut off from the remaining life boats. A tropical storm off of Madagascar, where the ship had departed from earlier in the day, was making getting to the actual ship next to impossible.

Unless you were the Thunderbirds.

Pressing the alarm, Scott heard the claxon echoing throughout the house and stood up in order to get on his uniform. Maybe by the time he would get back from the rescue, he could call New York without hearing anyone mutter "Mother Hen".

* * *

In short order, even as they could hear the police presence gather in strength, the gunmen herded the hostages – five bank employees (six if you included Casey, who actually worked as a summer intern for a computer consulting firm under contract to the Metro-Union Bank) and three customers (well, four – but they didn't know about Alan) – towards the back of the bank, just outside of the manager's office. His body, by the way, was still rapidly cooling in the middle of the lobby.

Gingerly touching his face, John winced as his fingers touched his now split lip. Looking over at Casey, he gave a fragile smile, trying not to show his distress at the small cut on her forehead and the bruising around her right eye. Reaching out a hand, John gave Casey's arm a slight squeeze.

"We're gonna get out of this," he said softly.

"You can't be sure of that," Casey whispered back.

"Yep. I can. See – I've met someone," John said with a smile. "Her name is Emily. She's this incredible person, beautiful on the inside and the out. I want nothing more than to marry her, watch her grow big with our babies, hold her as the years slip away, just loving her until the last days of our lives. And I will be damned if I let these bastards take that from me."

Casey smiled back. "Emily is a very lucky lady – I hope she knows that."

"I'll remind her of that whenever I do something stupid to tick her off," John smiled back before wincing as the action pulled at the tender flesh surrounding his mouth.

* * *

Jeff Tracy looked around the apartment one more time before deciding to head down to his office. He wanted to get distracted, he wanted to do something…

He needed to apologize to Ann-Marie.

But as he entered the suite of offices, Jeff was confused to see the offices were empty. No matter how annoyed his loyal assistant could – and had – gotten at Jeff, Ann-Marie would never walk out during the work day.

_Not to mention_, Jeff thought, _EVERYONE is gone. _There wasn't anyone in the offices. And while only the two of them were in their private offices, the extending executive suite usually was teeming with dozens of executives and their support staff. Determined to get to the bottom of the situation, Jeff headed towards the elevator.

* * *

Ann-Marie entered the lobby of the busy building, watching as Carl Patrick was making sure that all the employees were exiting by the west exits rather than the north. In front of those, a half dozen uniformed police officers, as well as four men in cheap suits whose demeanor and garments screamed "law enforcement".

Approaching Carl with a quick nod, the two long-term Tracy employees moved over to a man who seemed to be in charge.

"Detective Hendricks," Carl greeted with a brief nod. "This is Ann-Marie Thompson, Mr. Tracy's right hand. Talking to her is like talking to the big man himself."

"Really?" Hendricks sneered, his eyes trailing up in down in a dismissive manner.

"Really," Ann-Marie said firmly. "And get your mind out of the gutter. I've worked for Jeff since he had less than two hundred employees and two locations. And one of those was only a manufacturing plant in Bailey, Kansas. I've been there as he built this company into one of the largest, most profitable in the world. I was there when his youngest son was born – heck, I babysat the older boys until his mother could get there. I was there when his wife died – and no," she sneered at the detective, "I never took her place. But I did make sure he slept and ate when work became his sanctuary from blinding grief. I helped coordinate things when he decided to move his family to the Island for their safety and privacy. I made sure Tracy Enterprises kept going both when Gordon was hurt in the hydrofoil crash and, more recently, when Alan was almost killed by a drunk driver."

"In other words," a new voice added, "you have the power to speak for Mr. Tracy."

A thirtyish woman with medium brown hair entered the lobby. Her clothes were slightly nicer, her shoes also marking her as practical yet stylish – yet she still screamed "law enforcement". The next words out of her month confirmed that.

"I'm Special Agent Daria Delgado of the FBI. I was advised to speak with Jeff Tracy in order to appropriate this lobby as our command post. Yes, Detective Hendricks, that means you back down. May I remind you, if this was a convenience store, it would be NYPD. But it's a bank. That makes it Federal. That makes this my baby – got it? And one major rule I have is we respect civilians, especially when we have to use their stomping grounds, got it?"

"I like her," Ann-Marie whispered to Carl.

The Head of Security rolled his eyes. Somehow, that didn't surprise Carl.

"Now," Agent Delgado said as she turned back to Ann-Marie. "Do you really have the authority to finish clearing this building of any of your employees as well as allowing us to set up the CP?"

Ann-Marie nodded. "Yes. But I am sure Carl will agree that we should keep a few of our security personnel on site. We deal with a lot of top secret projects here. And the elevators will be locked out at the lobby. Anyone needs to go anywhere outside of the lobby – which I am sure that you will agree is large enough, it even has a coffee shop and restrooms – they have to be cleared by either Carl or myself and they need to be escorted by one of our security personnel."

"Ms. Thompson -" Delgado started before Carl interrupted.

"The men I will select are all ex-military or law enforcement," Carl explained. He saw no reason to explain that all of the Tracy security personnel were classified as such.

"There's one more thing," Ann-Marie said cautiously. When the agent turned back to her, she sighed. "Are you aware that the top of this building consists of a private penthouse apartment for Jeff Tracy? Nice piece of property, six bedrooms, three baths, huge patio, private elevator and heli-pad?"

Agent Delgado nodded, "I had heard rumors about it. Not a lot of people have ever seen it."

"When Jeff entertains, it's never in his apartment. That's a safe place for his family," Ann-Marie said calmly. "In fact, Jeff and two of his sons are currently in residence."

"So we need to get the Tracys out as well?" Delgado asked.

"Jeff is upstairs, waiting for his sons to come back -" Ann-Marie froze. "Oh, God. What bank did you say is being robbed?"

"I didn't," Agent Delgado said calmly. "But it's the Metro-Union across the way."

Pulling out her Blackberry, Ann-Marie reviewed some information before looking up in panic.

"Do you remember me saying that Jeff was waiting for his sons to return?" When Delgado nodded, Ann-Marie continued.

"Less than thirty minutes ago, John attempted to use his ATM card and failed to complete the transaction. If I am correct in what he would have done next, he would have entered the bank in order to deal with the situation. The bank," Ann-Marie said with a slight tremor to her voice, "is the Metro-Union across from the Towers. So if there is a bank robbery going on in there and there are hostages, two of Jeff Tracy's sons may be among them. Anyone want to deal with that?"

"Worse," Carl muttered, "anyone want to tell Jeff that?"

Her features schooled into her most professional demeanor, Agent Delgado softly said, "I don't think we'll have to."

Carl and Ann-Marie both felt a cold grip take hold and turned to the direction of the private elevator. The elevator opened into a small alcove, hidden from most of the lobby. At the edge of the alcove, a pale Jeff Tracy stood, the haunting fear of losing his sons clearly showing in his eyes…

* * *

_**A/N - Jeff knows. Now what to do about it? And you may have noticed a stunning lack of Alan in this chapter. But the next one, which I have already started, starts with Alan. And yes, the Thunderbirds are not coming to the rescue. International Rescue intervenes where normal rescue personnel CAN'T. The FBI and the NYPD will handle this. With some help from the Tracys on site. **_

_**See you next week! - CC**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - Sigh. No, no Tracy ownership. Very sad.**_

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Chapter Eight

Alan Tracy was never the most patient of Jeff Tracy's sons. Actually, John barely qualified as patient. The Tracys prided themselves on being men of action. The fact that Alan was little more than a boy was a point the teenager chose to ignore.

It hadn't taken Alan long to remove the lid from the locking mechanism on the inside of the door. At least not long after finding the metal utensils in the back of the closet. Looking at the wiring, Alan put aside the metal tools – he wouldn't do anyone any good if he was unconscious.

"OK," the teenager muttered. "I need to convince the electronic locking mechanism that the acceptable coding has been entered, without triggering the alarm. Alarm does not go to the outside, so it would not be a silent alarm. And bad guys do not need to know I am here. Me surprised – bad. Them surprised – good. Me talking to myself – also bad. Note to self – never let Dad plan vacations again."

Alan knew he was being mildly irrational. But it seemed as if someone really had something against them. First there was the Hood, then getting run down by his idiot ex-classmate, and now this. What else could happen to him?

* * *

Carl Patrick pulled his boss into a small private office that security kept just off of the main lobby. Grabbing a mug, he made Jeff a cup of coffee, making sure it was extra sweet. Seeing the sugar that was being poured into the mug – and knowing Jeff took his coffee black – Ann-Marie raised an eyebrow.

"Shock," Carl said calmly.

Ann-Marie nodded and sat down next to Jeff, taking his hand. "Jeff, we don't know the boys are in there. You can't let yourself assume the worst."

"Sure I can," Jeff said numbly. Looking over at the FBI agent who had followed them in, he asked with false calmness, "How much danger are my sons in?"

"If your sons are among the hostages," Agent Delgado said in an even tone, "at this time, their risk factors may be higher or lower depending on their own actions. What can you tell me about your sons?

Jeff held the mug in a death grip as he considered the question before answering. "John is very even tempered. It takes a great deal to get him angry. However, he is incredibly protective of Alan."

"That's your youngest son, right?" When Jeff nodded the agent continued. "He was the one that was hit by a drunk driver earlier this year, right?"

Nodding again, Jeff began to speak again. "Alan can be very impulsive. He's learned to rein that in recently. But he doesn't always consider consequences. Especially not where his own safety is concerned. Probably comes from his fraternal safety net."

"Fraternal safety net?" Delgado asked in confusion.

Ann-Marie answered. "Alan grew up the baby of his family. He's more than five years younger than the next oldest brother. His brothers have done everything they could over the years to protect Alan and let him have as normal a life as possible. So has Jeff. There hasn't been a picture of Alan published since he was three."

"Why did you release that one and no others?" Delgado asked.

"Released?" Carl scoffed. "Some bastard snuck into Lucy Tracy's funeral and took a picture of a grieving family, including a three year old boy freshly released from the hospital."

"I suppose we were a little extra protective of Alan," Jeff recalled. "There had been a kidnapping attempt when Alan was eighteen months old and another when he was older. Alan – I'm not sure if Alan knows about either one. The first one was in my hometown of Bailey, Kansas. The second one occurred when my fourth son, Gordon, was in critical condition in a naval hospital. I ended up sending Alan back to the Island ahead of the rest of the family, for his own protection. He wasn't pleased," Jeff said sardonically.

"Why not just tell Alan why you sent him home?" Delgado queried.

"Alan was eleven – no, wait," Jeff paused. "He had turned twelve three days before the attempt. You have no sense of how fragile your life is at that point of your life. He would have never gone reasonably. So I had Scott pick him up and fly him home."

"Didn't a fussing twelve-year-old draw attention at the airport?"

"One," Jeff ticked off on his fingers, "it was a private airport. And two – I may have had Alan sedated before Scott tried to haul him back."

"So Alan is at risk because of his impulsiveness, while John may be in danger if he is trying to protect Alan," the agent summed up correctly. She looked at the two concerned employees and asked, "How are you dealing with this?"

Ann-Marie shrugged. "Jeff's boys are more like my nephews than my boss's sons. But I'll cope."

"I'm not as close to the Tracys as Ann-Marie," Carl said before looking at the others. "But Jeff – do you remember my daughter, Casey?"

Jeff nodded. Carl had married his high school sweetheart when he joined the Army. He was away on a mission for Special Forces when he was extracted and informed that his wife had died in a car accident. Resigning from the military, Carl had taken a job with Jeff Tracy just as the man was beginning to build Tracy Towers. Carl had since remarried a very nice woman and they had two young sons – all of whom were close to Casey, even now that she was going to college in California. The young woman had baby-sat Alan several times when the Tracys lived in New York and she now attended Cal-Sci on a scholarship from the Tracy Charitable Trust. Jeff had been pleased at how well the younger woman was doing and was considering offering Casey a job when she graduated and he had his computer-security division up and running.

"Casey is working a summer internship with a computer consulting firm running security programs and testing firewalls. The contract she is working on is for Metro-Union Banks. She can work from any of the locations, but she chose the one closest to Tracy Towers so we could commute together, even have lunch together. I, um, well – I mentioned during Spring Break, when she was going to Mexico with some friends, that I missed her and hoped she would be where I could see her more often. Jeff, your boys may be there. Casey definitely is. I walked her to the door myself this morning."

"OK," Delgado said calmly, realizing that she now had two frantic fathers worried about their children.

"Agent Delgado," Ann-Marie said calmly. "Go set up your Command Post. I'll deal with this. The sooner you sort out this mess, the sooner we can go home."

Walking to the door, Daria Delgado looked back over her shoulder with a smile. She didn't realize she had spoken aloud until Ann-Marie snorted in amusement.

"I don't know what Tracy pays that woman, but I wish the government had the funds to match. We could use someone like that to kick the politicians in the ass."

* * *

John sat quietly, keeping his hands visible and trying to remain as still and silent as possible. Casey and the other hostages were doing their best to emulate him. He could only hope he was doing the right thing and that it would get them all out of there alive.

His fellow hostages were hoping the same thing.

In the meantime, Kevin was stomping around, trying to look menacing. Sherry kept playing with her gun, periodically raising her weapon slightly as if judging who to shoot next. Mac was simply praying that they all got out of there alive.

Again, what everyone else was praying for.

* * *

Emily Haas hated staff meetings. She firmly believed that staff meetings were first created in the seventh level of Hell and forced attendance of one was clearly listed as a form of torture under the Geneva Convention.

She had not busted her buns, becoming a practicing physician who could write a prescription before she could legally drink, so she could listen to jerks like Dr. Richard "Rico Suave" Sommers promote his personal agenda and demand that everyone pay homage to him. For the love of God, the man was a plastic surgeon. If he had been one who gave of himself, helping others at least a small portion of the time, it could be different.

Mentally shrugging, Emily wondered if part of her dislike of Sommers was the fact that she could still hear her mother's voice saying how humiliating it was that her daughter was a doctor and that women in "their circles" were not doctors, they married doctors. Susan Haas even knew a Fifth Avenue plastic surgeon – "good people, excellent pedigree" – who would be a son-in-law the socialite would approve of.

The fact that the woman had said that in front of the man Emily had been dating at the time – cardiac surgeon, Edward Eppes – and his cousin, Kate, had added to the humiliation the young doctor was feeling at the time. Susan Haas had succeeded in breaking up the couple, but had not gotten the results she had desired. Instead of Emily returning with her mother to New York from Los Angeles, she had fled in the opposite direction, moving to New Zealand to accept the position as head of Emergency Medicine for Mercy General.

Zoning out when the self-centered jackass that was Dr. Sommers continued to ramble on – and on, and on…Emily found herself trying to picture more pleasant things. The first real day of Spring in New York…The woods behind her grandfather's cabin in New Hampshire on a crisp Autumn afternoon…The first time she met John Tracy…

_Emily Haas sighed as she pushed aside another data pad. Paperwork – even if it wasn't on actual paper these days - __was an annoyance on a good day and interfered with patient care on the worse. Of course, she frowned, as she highlighted an allergy on a patient chart, some things could be useful. OK, maybe paperwork could at least be considered a necessary evil._

"_Excuse me," a male voice broke Emily's rambling. Looking up, she could only hope her mouth wasn't hanging open._

_And that she wasn't drooling._

_John Tracy stood in front of her, one of the nicest – and hottest – smiles Emily had ever seen in her life gracing his face. As she did a quick inventory of his features, Emily couldn't decide what she liked best – his hair, his eyes, his – ah, hell. God was just having a really good day when he designed John Tracy._

_Holding out a hand, John continued to smile. "I'm John Tracy. Shana Pierce told me to look you up. She did contact you, didn't she?"_

"_Oh, yes," Emily said quietly. She felt disappointment rise through her body even as she kept her most professional face on. "Yes, of course. Shana said that the family of one of her patient's lived in this area and that you were interested in getting the help of an emergency medical specialist." Frowning, she leaned slightly against the desk as she asked, "Why on Earth do you need an EMS?"_

"_Well," John said with his most disarming grin. "My family tends to push the envelope a bit. Having a go-to person for medical emergencies might not be a bad call in our book."_

"_OK," Emily conceded, "you may be right. When would you like to get together?"_

"_When do you get off work?" John asked._

_Emily looked at her watch before sighing. "Technically, thirty minutes ago; once this paperwork is done, in about an hour."_

_John chuckled. "Well, how about I pick you up in about two hours at your condo? I'll get reservations for Trenia's."_

_Laughing, Emily nodded in agreement. "Sounds good. But I hope you have a back-up plan. Reservations for Trenia's is made weeks, if not months, in advance. And is this a business meeting or a date?"_

"_Depends," John grinned._

"_On what?"_

"_On whether or not you let me kiss you when I bring you home," John said with a grin as he headed out the door._

_It was only as Emily was getting dressed that she realized she hadn't given John her home address or a phone number – nor had he given her a cell. So it was a great relief to her when the astronomer showed up at her condo._

_Letting John in, she smiled briefly. "I just have to leave some food for the neighbor's cat. Shannon is visiting family back in Georgia and she made me promise to take care of Mr. Waddles."_

_John watched as Emily went out to the patio with a bowl of food, calling for the cat – a chubby furball who certainly fit his name. As she pet and cooed to the cat, John looked around the room. Spotting one of his books on a table next to a comfortable rocker-recliner, he picked it up with a smile._

"_Trying to impress me?" he teased as Emily came back in and locked the French doors._

"_One book would be to impress you," Emily shrugged. "All of your books mean I like your work."_

_John followed to where her hand had gestured, his sky blue eyes widening at the sight of all of his books in her bookshelves, the titles eclectic and neatly arranged alphabetically by author. _

_Picking up a framed photo on the same table as the book, Emily handed it to John. He had observed it was one of the few portrait photographs in her home, most pictures instead being landscapes from a variety of environments._

"_My maternal grandfather was the one who taught me to love the stars. He was a doctor in rural New Hampshire. He died two years ago. Poppy was the only member of my family who ever approved of me or encouraged me to become a doctor. I know from all accounts I have heard about the Tracys, your family is very close. Mine isn't. I failed to fill the role my family felt society had in mind for me. I am too smart, too independent and too uninterested in what society thinks of me to please my family. I'm sure you investigated me? At least the basics?"_

_When John nodded Emily continued. "It was bad enough in my mother's eyes that I was a girl. I could have at least been a debutant. So after my grandfather died, I moved to Los Angeles. My mother still interfered in my life. I'm just hoping an ocean will stop her. Or at least a lack of gossip about me."_

"_I think," John said carefully, "if you were a member of the Tracy family, we would be very proud of you and happy to claim you as one of our own."_

"_Well," Emily sighed as they left the condo, "I'm not a Tracy."_

"_Not yet," John muttered before smiling at Emily's surprised look, making her wonder if she had imagined the statement._

It had been a wonderful first date and led to Emily seeing John frequently. Emily even flew over to Tracy Island several times and came to love the entire family. Glancing at her phone again ,she tried to push a panicky feeling away. Somehow, however, Emily knew – something was wrong with John.

Feeling a shiver run up her spine, Emily stiffened her back with what John called her "Yankee Resolve". Seeking comfort, Emily recalled the first time John had ever kissed her, after dinner and dancing at Trenia's. But even now, Emily was confused by something John said just before he kissed her.

What the heck did "dibs" mean?

* * *

Sherri continued to pace back and forth, unnerving both hostages and her cohorts at the same time. She was frustrated to realize that what seemed like a brilliant idea – blocking the phones via the computer system and planting a cell phone jammer just outside of the bank – was coming back to bite her in the ass. With no way to communicate with the world beyond the glass doors, she was as trapped as the hostages in there.

Casey looked at the lead gunman – Gunwoman? Gun-person? _"Damn," _she thought. _"Being politically correct sucks."_

"What do you think has her so agitated?" Casey whispered to John.

"Beyond the fact her plans have hit the proverbial brick wall and splattered her with feces?"

"John," Casey sighed. "You are way too polite sometimes and -"

Her next words were cut off by the cop-shooter - a.k.a. Kevin - moving swiftly towards them and swinging the butt of his gun at Casey's head. Ducking instinctively, she winced in sympathy when the weapon instead struck John on the side of the face.

Cupping his now stinging right cheek in his hand, John bit his lip in pain. He soon came to regret that as soon as his teeth touched the already abused lip, forcing the healing wound to split back open. Glaring at the creep using his head for batting practice, John snapped, "And what was that for?"

"No talking," Kevin screamed, clearly seconds away from snapping completely.

Mac grabbed at his old friend's arm. "Kev, watch it. We need them alive. Just cool it so we can get out of this with all of our body parts."

Glancing over at Sherri, Mac sighed in relief when she merely nodded before she gestured for her co-conspirators to join her.

"OK," Sherri asked, not even trying to keep her voice low. "We need to contact the cops long enough to get a satellite phone in here. If it worked for that stupid bitch to call them, one should work for us."

"Why not just use hers?" Kevin asked.

Gesturing at Casey – while totally ignoring the death glares the other woman was aiming at her – Sherri shrugged. "Can't. She locked it somehow. I really don't see her giving us the codes to unlock it. She's got that look – you know? Name, rank and serial number would be all she'd give us."

Casey's smirk seemed to confirm Sherri's theory. Of course, the fact that she actually didn't know Alan's codes to unlock his phone was far more significant.

"I know how to get them," Kevin snapped, stalking over to the hostages. Grabbing Lisa, he yanked the secretary up by her processed hair and screamed, "Give us the codes or your friend loses her looks!"

"One," Casey said calmly, "she isn't my friend. Technically, as she has reminded me repeatedly, she isn't even my co-worked. I'm a summer intern for a sub-contractor for Metro-Union. Second, her looks are already screwed up. Not to mention her recent injuries. And yes, Lisa, that was an insult."

Looking at the hostages, Sherri let out a bark of laughter. "I think you managed to grab the one person no one wants to save," she snickered.

Wildly looking around, Lisa gulped when she saw patent indifference on the faces of her co-workers, active dislike on John's and only mild concern by the customers.

Most people knew her too well to be too worried about her.

"Marie," Lisa screeched. "You talk to Lacy -"

"Casey," Marie interrupted. "And of course I do. She's a nice person. It's nice to talk to her."

Turning – at least as much as Kevin's grip would let her – Lisa looked at John. "C'mon, mister. I see that you are protecting Stacy -"

"Casey," John sighed in exasperation. "And give me a break – I've known her for years. Our dads, um, work together."

"Can't you find someone else to make an example of," Lisa whined. "What about that kid?"

Straightening up, Sherri moved closer. "What kid?" Casey, at twenty, was the youngest hostage; she was young, but not a kid.

"The one who came in with that blonde guy," Lisa screeched, pointing at John.

John and Casey froze. Sherri moved towards them. "What kid?" she repeated, pointing the gun and Casey before moving it towards John.

Glaring up at Sherri, John locked his jaw and refused to answer. The longer the gunmen didn't know about Alan, the better the chances nothing would happen to his little brother. Alan had been through enough lately. John was determined to protect the Sprout this time.

"Answer my question," Sherri snarled, pressing the muzzle up against John's forehead. "Or you won't be alive long enough to regret your stubbornness."

* * *

**A/N - Well, there you go. The fathers know their kids are in danger, Ann-Marie is kicking tushy and I ticked off Sam1 by giving Emily a big scene.**

**Alan - You can't leave it there! You have a gun pointed right at my brother!**

**CC- Which brother?**

**Alan (splutters) - Which brother? How can you say -**

**John - Alan, I think CC is joking. (frowns) You are joking, right?**

**CC - Yes, I am joking. I know which Tracy I am physically abusing and which one I am mentally abusing.**

**Alan (sarcastically) Well, so glad you can keep that straight.**

**CC - Well, I also gave a sweet start to John and Emily's romance.**

**John (snorts) Yeah, I bet Sam1 liked that.**

**CC - She accused me of picking on her and said she was going to tell Mom.**

**Alan (confused) - You two aren't sisters.**

**CC - Well, my older sister drives me nuts, and her younger sister does the same to her, so we decided to trade in our old models for ones we prefer. And my mom is wicked cool.**

**John - Alan, no getting any ideas from that.**

**Alan - Dude, I am of the belief better the devil you know than the devil you don't.**

**John - Not sure if I should be pleased or not. The devil you know?**

**Alan - I have just one word for you: Gordon.**

**CC and John - AHHH**

**John - Well, not to change the subject, but how much are you going to traumatize us with the new story I noticed you posted.**

**CC - Not to worry, that is more of a fluff, some drama and lots of filling in the blanks. See, Jean - the one who drools after Scott? - was always saying I should flesh out comments or convos about incidents in your family. So, this is a take on that. Kinda Alan centric. I have been warned it needs a diabetic warning.**

**Alan (scoffs) - Like that's new for you.**

**CC - I can go back to stuffing you in trunks, Alan.**

**John - Alan, I would quit while I was ahead. So - any cake, CC? (At Alan's wide-eyed look, he shrugs) Hey, she makes good cake.**

**CC - Yep, cake and coffee with mochalita creamer. And lemonaid for you, Alan. More soon...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - I have not, in any time, space or reality, owned the Thunderbirds.**_

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Chapter Nine

Alan grinned in satisfaction, peeking at his watch when he heard the electronic locks emit a slight buzzing sound to indicate that he had been successful – and in record time, no less.

"_I still got it," _Alan mentally sighed with contentment.

Easing the door open, the teenager looked around the room, relieved to see he was the only one there. Spotting the phone on the wall, Alan tried to use it, but was frustrated at no dial tone. Realizing that the phone lines had probably been blocked somehow in order to prevent anyone from calling for help – and that some alarms still ran via phone lines – Alan quietly returned the receiver to its cradle.

Moving quickly around the room, Alan tried to find something to use as a weapon. Easing back a dry erase board, the fifteen year old barely held back a triumphant _"yes!" _when he saw a utility door. Having wandered through Tracy Towers many times over the years, waiting for his father to finish some kind of business or other, Alan recognized the door used by maintenance to access the inner-workings of buildings. Many of them could even lead to underground access tunnels. If there was one thing his experience with the Hood had taught the youngest Tracy, it was that there were times to stand and fight. And there were times to run like Hell.

At this time, running was a good idea.

* * *

Daria Delgado nodded in satisfaction. The command post was coming along nicely and having some of the Tracy security personnel still on site was actually rather beneficial. With the help of the four men and one woman, handpicked by Carl Patrick himself, furniture, phone lines and computers were being made available for law enforcement. It didn't surprise the agent that much of the equipment was superior to anything they would have had otherwise.

Looking over at a fellow agent, Delgado nodded at the computer her fingers were tracing over. "You think we could get Tracy to donate some of these to the Bureau?"

Agent Sanders chuckled, ready to answer when Ann-Marie Thompson appeared behind them. Whipping out her blackberry, she asked the lead agent, "What's your e-mail?"

Startled, Agent Delgado stammered, "Um, d m delgado at gov dot com backslash fbi. Why?"

Tucking the electronic device back into her pocket, Ann-Marie said, "I'll send you the paperwork your bureau chief would need to file. If we can't get it for you as part of a grant, we can see about a special rate." Patting Delgado on the shoulder, she grinned. "Don't worry; we've done it for other government agencies. We work on so many government contracts, Jeff feels it can be justified if only to make it easier for us to get our work done. Now, I have to make more of this coffee for Jeff before he finds out its decaf. Call me if you need anything else."

As the woman scurried off, Agent Delgado shook her head again. "I've said it before, and I am sure I will say it again before this mess is over – I don't know how much Tracy is paying her, but I sure wish the government could afford to match her salary."

"Maybe Mr. Tracy would loan her to the Bureau as well?" Sanders laughed.

Grinning for the moment, Delgado sat down behind the computer as she began to access information on the bank's schematics. "Jeff Tracy is generous. He is not, however, stupid."

* * *

Alan wondered if he should try and signal to John that he had found a way out. He didn't want to leave John but wasn't sure if he could do anything but endanger his brother if he were to move into the main part of the bank.

Moving over to the doorway, Alan realized that the voices he and Casey could hear so clearly earlier, even from the security of the closet, were now muted. Realizing that the gunmen must have moved the hostages, Alan crouched low and moved into the bank itself, making sure he remained out of sight.

Hidden behind a high counter where the tellers usually stood, Alan started to hear muted voices. Crawling along the counter, Alan had just about reached the end when the voices became clear enough for the fifteen year old to understand what was being said. And with understanding, Alan's heart clenched in fear at the words he could hear.

_"What about that kid?"_

That sounded like the obnoxious receptionist. But the next voice was unknown, yet far more menacing.

"_What kid?"_

"_The one who came in with that blonde guy."_

OK, definitely the obnoxious receptionist.

"_What kid?" _was repeated by Ms. Menace. Alan hadn't known any woman's voice could sound so scary since his eight grade algebra teacher.

Peeking around the corner, Alan could see the hostages, including John, sitting on the floor outside of an office. The teenager was terrified to see Ms. Menace press the muzzle of her semi-automatic weapon up against John's forehead and snarl, _"Answer my question, or you won't be alive long enough to regret your stubbornness."_

Seeing John's clenched jaw and knowing that meant his older brother would refuse to cooperate, Alan quickly came to a decision.

Standing up, Alan cleared his throat and took a step forward. Holding his hands up, he made sure he had the gunman's attention from John before he spoke.

"Here – I'm here. Don't shoot John."

* * *

Carl Patrick sat in the corner of the room, looking at the security logs for the building. Every action being undertaken by his subordinates was being forwarded to him. The security head had found it useful over the years to make sure everything from redistribution of supplies to disbursement of personnel be carefully tracked and documented so that he would know what his resources were.

Blame it on his military background, but the man knew that if he knew how many soldiers he had, where they were stationed and what weapons were at their disposal, the better for him to meet – and defeat – the enemy.

Glancing over to where his employer – and friend – sat, Carl felt a touch of sympathy. He knew from little things that Jeff had said over the years that the man's greatest, most overwhelming fear, was to lose one of his sons. Carl had never felt that way. Oh, he was a typical parent, one who watched over and worried about his children. But due to the way Casey had grown up – often feeling like she was the only child of a single parent due to Carl's military service, only to actually be the only child of a single parent when her mother had died – had created an independent, self-reliant girl. The young woman had never given her father a moment's worry.

Well, until today.

But Jeff's sons? Carl knew about the accident that had killed Lucy Tracy and how Alan – only a toddler at the time – had almost died as well. Then there was when Scott was in the service – that bit had never been made public. And, of course, Gordon's near fatal accident while with the WASPs. There were rumors of John being hurt in a lab accident earlier that year, although Jeff had said nothing. But Ann-Marie had been certain everything was under control.

And then there was earlier this summer. He could still recall Ann-Marie's tear streaked face, frantic for some word on the missing Alan Tracy. Then when they had heard, it was to be told Alan was on a medi-vac chopper to a Level One trauma center. The fact that the teenager had survived was a miracle.

But now Carl wondered if the Tracys had used up all of their miracles. He could only pray not. And looking at Jeff Tracy, he was sure the man was committing the same prayer to the heavens.

Carl was right. Jeff was desperately praying. He was praying that John was not being himself and had lost track of time. He was praying that his sons would walk through the doors, laughing and asking what the fuss was all about. He was praying that at the end of the days, his sons would be safe and back with him.

But mostly, he was praying this was a nightmare and he could just simply wake up.

Then again, who said life was simple?

* * *

Cursing under his breath, John knew he should have been relieved when "Sherri" pulled the weapon away from his head. But considering that his salvation had come at the price of Alan being placed in harm's way, there was no chance of John feeling anything but fear.

Turning away from John, Sherri moved quickly, grabbing Alan by the arm and yanking him roughly towards the group. Practically throwing the teenager, Alan only avoided falling onto the hard marble floor by John and Casey catching him as he fell.

"Damn it!" John snapped, glaring at the woman. "You could have hurt him."

Sheri sneered behind her mask. "He's young; he'll be fine."

Glaring at the woman, John struggled to keep his anger in check even as he pulled Alan securely next to him. "Alan was in an accident just a couple of months ago. A drunk driver ran him down and left him to die by the wayside. As it was, we didn't know at first if he would walk again. He still hasn't fully recovered and being thrown onto a marble floor definitely is not among the doctor recommended activities."

With his attention split between his brother and the mad woman with the gun still drifting towards them, John didn't notice one of the tellers start in surprise. But Casey did.

"_I wonder what freaked out Marie," _the younger woman thought, puzzled at the usually controlled teller's reaction to John's outburst.

* * *

Marie Shaheen bit her lip to keep from saying anything as she tried not to stare at the teenager. Alan Tracy. That had to be Alan Tracy. She had caught a glimpse of a book Casey was reading the other day and had realized earlier that the handsome blonde man being held hostage with them was author John Tracy. This would make the teenager with him the youngest son of Jeff Tracy, Alan, who had almost died when he was hit by a car – A car driven by her son, Barry Shaheen.

Barry had shamed her family beyond belief with his actions. First he had driven drunk, nearly killing a classmate. Worse, her son had then abandoned the boy to die when he could have gotten help. Then Barry had escaped from prison. No one had seen or heard from him since.

But that hadn't stopped the Shaheens from nearly being destroyed. Marie had been transferred to New York, losing the seniority she had worked for years to build. Back in Chicago, Marie had been a training supervisor for the Mid-West division of Metro-Union. Now she was the head teller, supervising three other full-time and three part-time tellers.

Marie hadn't been the only one to suffer. Her husband, Joe, had been "allowed" early retirement and her daughter, Hilary, had lost both her job and her scholarship to a small but prestigious college. Hilary had elected to join the Illinois National Guard in order to get the money she needed to finish her degree at a State University and was currently in Tech School in Mississippi. This fall, she would move in with Marie's sister because Hilary had to give up her small apartment when she lost her job.

In addition, the Shaheens had ended up selling their house for much less than it was worth because of how quickly they had wanted to move. Luckily, Marie's aunt had a three bedroom rent-controlled apartment in New York. With Joe agreeing to help care for the woman after her recent stroke, in exchange for them being added to the lease, and a decent Catholic school for boys close by for their fourteen year old son, Billy, Marie had felt like their lives where finally getting back to a sense of normalcy.

Yet this was as far from normal as you could get. Being held hostage in the bank where she was working, the young man her son had almost killed just feet from her. Marie wanted to go over to him and apologize for what Barry had done. Looking at the way the older brother protectively put his arm around the teenager, Marie felt a lump in her throat. _"Oh, Barry – where did we go wrong with you?"_

* * *

Detective Ken Hendricks was not a happy man. Here had been his chance to shine, to prove his worth to his superiors in order to improve his speed on the promotional fast track. Then along comes some hot shot Feeb.

Agent Dara Delgado? What kind of name was that? The woman didn't look Hispanic but people just didn't know how to keep to their own kind these days. But regardless of that, the bitch had swept into the building and assumed control. Hendricks had tried to complain to his supervisors about a Feeb coming in and stepping on his toes – _their_ toes by extension. The captain had merely reiterated what Agent Delgado had said about banks automatically falling under Federal control.

Walking quietly, Hendricks pretended to be looking at footage from security cameras from buildings around the bank. By standing near the monitors, the angry cop was able to listen in on what Agents Delgado and Sanders were saying.

"OK," Sanders explained. "We can see the suspected gunmen entering the bank. But their faces are already covered and the footage we have viewed so far doesn't give us any useful images of them."

"Can we confirm the presence of Mr. Tracy's sons?" Delgado asked, not noticing Hendricks freeze at the mention of the renowned businessman. The cop had been hoping to get to meet the elusive living legend although he knew Jeff Tracy was rarely actually at Tracy Towers. But what was this about Tracy sons?

Before Sanders could answer, Carl Patrick came out of the small room he had been in. "Did you use the digital monitoring system?"

At the confused looks from the agents and technicians, Carl moved in closer, accessing the computer. "See – calling this building Tracy Towers is based on the illusion it is three separate buildings. The design is actually one solid base and a solid top." When the FBI personnel nodded in understanding, Carl continued.

"We recently began to upgrade the digital security cameras around the building. Several of them are tucked into nooks created by the building's design. These ones here have been activated and should catch a lot more action."

Typing in commands, Carl began the playback of the cameras, zooming in at points to capture images. Locking in an image of the already masked gunmen exiting a van, he was able to discover a license plate that Agent Sanders quickly copied down. Starting to play with another camera, Carl faltered when he saw himself dropping his daughter off at the bank, happily receiving a light kiss on the cheek before the twenty year old headed through the glass doors.

Feeling a hand gently squeeze his shoulder, Carl glanced behind him and gave Ann-Marie a small smile as he began to fast forward hoping to glean more information on the robbers when he heard Ann-Marie curse lightly. Shocked, the security head whipped his head back around to see what his co-worker was so upset about.

Rewinding the images, Carl's eyes widened at the sight of John Tracy attempting to use the ATM directly in front of the bank. The blonde Tracy looked annoyed and frustrated while a teenager that Carl recognized as Alan seemed lightly amused. After a minute John stalked into the bank, Alan following and trying not to laugh. Speeding up the image a bit, Carl realized by the timer that less than five minutes had passed between the Tracys entering the bank and the three masked figures bursting in.

Without the Tracys ever coming back out.

"OK," Ann-Marie sighed. "I guess we can confirm for Jeff that John and Alan are in the bank." Looking at Carl, she bit her lip. "I'd do anything not to tell him."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Agent Delgado asked.

Nodding, the PA touched Carl's arm. "Are you going to be alright? God, sorry – that was a stupid question."

Gesturing towards the office where they had left their boss, Carl gave a small smile. "Go take care of the boss man. Make sure no one lets him have anything but decaf. More importantly, don't let Jeff know he's drinking decaf."

"Puh-lease," Ann-Marie breathed. "This isn't my first rodeo with the trauma and drama of the Tracys. I have certain rules. One – I watch Jeff's caffeine intake. Two – I make sure he remains informed. And three – I keep Scott out of it."

"Alright," Agent Delgado asked on their way back to Jeff. "I get the information flow and coffee gatekeeping, but who is Scott and what's the big deal about him getting involved?"

"Scott Tracy, numero uno son of Jeff Tracy. He looks like a younger Jeff but, well – Jeff watches his temper much better. If Scott were here, we would have to be locking him down to stop him from tearing the heads off of anyone threatening his brothers." Pausing as she placed her hand on the knob, Ann-Marie gave a small grin.

"Once you get these guys, may I suggest an immediate lock-up – especially if Alan or John is hurt at all. Jeff will make sure they never see the light of day. Virgil or Gordon would repay any hurt to their brothers ten-fold."

"And Scott Tracy?" Delgado asked.

Ann-Marie's grin faded. "Well, you won't have to worry about a trial. At least not for the guys in the bank."

* * *

_**A/N - A quick note. The FBI agent's name is Daria. Hendricks messed up her name. A cyber cookie if anyone knows where I got the character's name from. And to make Sam1 happy, there was nary a mention of a certain blonde doctor.**_

_**In THIS chapter.**_

_**Review and make me happy. See you next week. In the meanwhile, two TB stories I am following and one I beta have updated: "Liar" by Gotyu, "World Trade Center" by Uzumaki Fenix and "Always the Hero" by Shadowfox8. There is plenty of Alan whump in all three stories. Happy reading! ~ CC**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**_

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - Do not own Thunderbirds. And now that she has been outed, I do not own Daria. Yes, Daria, the one thing that came out of MTV after 1989 that I could stand. Daria Morgendorfer - nee' Delgado - as an FBI agent. Oh, and her sister showed up already and you met her. Seriously, if you have never watched Daria, you should. My mother loves it - says it is my sister and I all over. And yes, I was Daria.**_

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Chapter Ten

Daria Delgado sat at the computer, frustration building in her as she tried yet another angle to be able to read the plates on the car. She had sent men out to scour the neighborhood, but the car was no longer there. It had appeared that only the three suspects had left the car but it was impossible to be sure.

"So, Daria," Agent Sanders mused as he leaned over her shoulder. "What do you plan to do now?"

"Well, unless someone has come up with a car that drives itself -"

"Not yet, give us a couple of more years," Ann-Marie said cheerfully as she put a fresh carafe of coffee on the table in front of the agent before heading off in the opposite direction.

After watching the retreating back of the PA for a moment, Delgado took in a deep breath before continuing. "Like I was saying – someone had to have moved that car. We need more footage."

Standing up, the agent looked at the virtually hidden room. She needed to talk to Jeff Tracy and Carl Patrick. Maybe they would have some ideas.

* * *

Emily Haas was pulled from a _very _enjoyable memory employing her, John and a quart of ice cream by Dr. Sommers' snide voice.

"Oh, Dr. Haas," Sommers' snapped, causing Emily's head to pop up. The man continued on, oblivious to the fact that the young doctor's midnight blue eyes had gone from warm and soft to sharp and hard, a sign of a rare explosion of anger from Emily.

"I'm sure that you see these meetings as a waste of time and energy for one of your high intelligence and social connections. But in order for things to run smoothly, we need _cooperation _from all departments. That means that you, Dr. Haas need to work with others – not just people like your high society boyfriend."

"First," Emily said in a voice as cold as a New York street corner in January, "I don't like and have as little to do with "high society" as I can. I _work _for a living. And yes – my IQ is considered to be significant and refined. But my BS detector is even more refined and is among numerous reasons why I don't like you. Your unwillingness to assist those who cannot promote you to the social circles you pretend to dislike but secretly long to be accepted to goes against everything I believe a doctor should be."

"And in case you are curious, which I doubt," Emily icily continued, "the other reason I don't like you is you're hitting on every woman who works here. It's not cute, it's not flirting; its sexual harassment and will lead to a lawsuit which could endanger all the good this facility is capable of doing."

When Sommers looked like he wanted to interrupt, Emily took a menacing step forward – that at barely five feet and just over a hundred pounds, she carried it off so well spoke of generations of breeding – and tried not to smirk when the plastic surgeon fell back. "Further, my age is not an issue when my medical skills are the topic. I am a graduate of a program which you not only would have failed to complete; you failed to be accepted to. And yes, I am aware of that. The head of that program is an old friend of my grandfather's and he mentioned how you threatened a lawsuit when you were turned down, claiming reverse discrimination. Considering Dr. Brennan's well-known dislike of affirmative action in education and his belief that a person's competency is more important than their ability to fulfill quotas, you never even found someone to take your case, did you? But you do continue to disparage anyone who graduates from what has been called the hardest medical training in the world – no matter how much everyone else says that it has produced some of the best doctors currently in practice."

"Finally, did you just bring John into your attempt to drag me down?" Emily snarled, her dark blue eyes snapping in fury. "John Tracy, like all of his family, dislikes the trappings of high society. They move among them only when needed. Instead, they focus on work and family as being more important. One John Tracy is worth more than a thousand of a self-centered jerk like you."

Standing upright, Emily looked around the room. "If anything was being done in this meeting, I would consider it a worthy use of my time. However, if the only thing that is being done in here is opportunities for self-centered ego-maniacs to bleat about their latest accomplishments - real and imagined – then I will have to say I have better things to do."

Grabbing her blackberry, Emily stalked to the door before glaring at the room over her shoulder. "I'm not sure what I have to do yet, but I'll find something better to do."

As the door slammed shut behind her, Dr. Sommers' rant was halted by Dr. Brady's raised hand.

"Richard, I don't want to hear it. Dr. Haas is a brilliant and skilled doctor, who has a low tolerance for bullshit. Her humanitarian work has brought this facility twice as much funding as your schmoozing. If she were willing to attend a few more functions, I wouldn't be surprised if she could double that amount."

"And her connection to the Tracy Family?" Sommers sneered. "That doesn't interest you at all?"

"In that Jeff Tracy is considering opening a clinic via the Tracy Charitable Trust in Akoroa and would be looking for a doctor to run it, and should Dr. Haas end up as a Tracy daughter-in-law, who do you think Mr. Tracy would ask to run the program? So the one concern I have about Emily Haas dating John Tracy is if I would lose one of the brightest doctors to ever walk these halls."

Standing, Dr. Brady shook his head. "We are not going to get anything productive done, so this meeting is to be tabled to next week – when we will discuss only issues relevant to the entire facility, not ones that serve only to promote the individual. Understand?"

Nodding briefly, Richard Sommers stormed from the room, leaving the remaining personnel to drift out of the boardroom. Soon the only people left in the room were Dr. Brady and Renee St. Germaine, the head of nursing.

"Marcus Brady," Renee grinned at the man she had worked with for thirty years. The two co-workers often socialized together, their spouses and children used to seeing each other outside of work. Renee's husband Brent often joked that her family might be in Australia but she had a big brother at work in Marcus.

"Renee St. Germaine," Dr. Brady sighed when the nurse didn't continue.

"You set that up," Renee laughed. "You have been waiting for Dr. Haas to lose it with Dr. "Suave", haven't you?

"And my wish came true," Dr. Brady sighed. "She did it in front of me."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you are truly twisted?"

"Sure," Dr. Brady agreed as he moved towards the door. "Janet - at least once a week for thirty years."

"She would know," Renee acknowledged as she followed him from the room. "She married you."

* * *

Scott Tracy felt strange, having left Thunderbird One behind for this rescue. Since it wasn't that far away – not to mention no landing site for the big blue rocket – having mobile command was irrelevant. Sitting in the seats behind Virgil and Gordon – Thunderbird Two's co-pilot of the moment – the Field Commander of International Rescue was unaware of the small grumblings coming from his throat until Gordon cast a look over his shoulder.

"Um, Scotty, you're scaring Virgil when you start making animal sounds," the red-head snickered.

Virgil just chuckled. "Nah. Use to it. But it does make me curious." Sobering slightly, he asked, "Was there something about this rescue that you didn't tell us about?"

"No," Scott sighed. "It's a pretty straightforward rescue. If it wasn't for a few mitigating circumstances, they wouldn't even need us. No, I just want to get this done and get home. I've got a bad feeling and I'm not going to relax until I can talk to Dad and the two blondes."

"Dad and the two blondes?" Gordon snickered. "Sounds like a Lifetime Movie of the Week."

The middle Tracy son almost joined Gordon in his laughter until he caught sight of Scott's face. No, something was wrong and Scott wasn't about to find anything amusing. Instead, Virgil checked his co-ordinates before speaking.

"Do you know something is wrong or are your big brother sensors on over-load?"

Sighing again, Scott leaned his head back before checking on incoming data from Thunderbird Five. "I haven't spoken to any of them since Dad called from the airport to say that they had landed. John sent an e-mail yesterday saying that beyond a small dust-up with a pushy reporter – who, by the way, never even knew Alan was there, Thank God – that everything is going according to plan. Alan has his new clothes, the convention went well and so did the board meeting. There should be absolutely nothing wrong and nothing to worry about."

"So," Virgil mused, "that means something either has or is about to go totally FUBAR."

"Hey, Alan is involved," Gordon joked. "The kid was born to assure that we're never bored."

"Frantic, furious or frustrated," Virgil agreed, "but no – never bored. Never a dull moment with our little brother, is there?"

Scott gave a small smile as he checked off data. No, life was never boring with Alan. Part of him wished he could just keep the kid safe and protected always. But Alan hated being smothered. At least this way, they were still setting limits – even if Alan challenged those limits every chance he got.

"OK," Virgil interrupted Scott's thoughts, pushing buttons and setting controls. "We're over the accident zone. Looks like the Hackenbackers called it perfectly. Let's get started hauling the folks up. The sooner we get done here, the sooner we can get the Smother Hen back to his nest."

Scott gave a rare glare at Virgil before securing his helmet. "Yes, I want to get back to base. But let's not rush anything. A successful rescue isn't just getting everyone out. It's getting all of us back to base in one piece."

Gordon and Virgil nodded. They had heard that lecture enough from both their father and Scott.

But it was still the truth.

* * *

Alan leaned in closer to John, with his older brother firmly holding the family baby close to his chest. Biting his lower lip, Alan looked up at John, making sure he had his brother's attention before softly speaking.

"Johnny?"

John smiled gently down at Alan when he heard the teenager calling him by the childhood nickname. "Yeah, Sprout?"

"Sorry I came out of hiding. Casey said you would want me to stay safe, but I just couldn't let them hurt you." Looking at John's bruised face and split lip, Alan lowered his head and leaned back into his brother's chest. "But I guess I messed that up, too."

"Allie," John said firmly, hooking a finger under Alan's chin and raising it so he could see his brother's eyes. "They did all this before they even knew you were here. My injuries are not your fault. Now, we are going to sit here and take it easy. The authorities know we are here. It shouldn't take too long for this to be resolved."

"Yeah," Alan muttered. "But resolved in a good way or a bad way?"

John didn't answer. There really wasn't anything he could say.

* * *

Jeff Tracy finally emerged from the small office to hear Agent Delgado arguing with a pug faced man with a personality to match.

"Detective Hendrickson," Delgado said firmly. "If you attempt to override one more of my orders, I will have you hauled down to a holding cell in the Federal Building where you better hope that my "frail female mind" can remember which room you have been placed in."

"Agent Delgado?" Jeff said in what he hoped was a calming tone.

"Listen buddy," Hendrickson snapped. "Why don't you go take care of whatever task the Feeb here assigned you?"

"Excuse me?" Jeff said in annoyance, before looking down and realizing that he had chosen a Tracy Enterprises polo shirt that many of his employees chose to wear on their monthly "casual day" when the staff could "dress down" in exchange for a donation to the charity of the month. Even the polo shirt that many of the executives preferred were ones that Ann-Marie had arranged to be sold with all profits going to the Tracy Charitable Trust Scholarship Fund.

"Hendrickson, you really want to shut up about now," Delgado said calmly even while she moved closer to Jeff.

The cop's nostrils flared as he glared at Daria and Jeff. "It's bad enough I'm supposed to listen to a Feeb, now you want me to listen to one of Tracy's rent-a-cops?"

"Jeff?" Carl Patrick called out as he approached his boss, not noticing how pale Detective Hendrickson had become as he finally recognized a casually dressed Jeff Tracy.

Turning, Jeff focused on his head of security.

"You and John were discussing the satellite imaging program the other day," Carl began, continuing when Jeff nodded.

"How good is the street-level imaging?" Carl asked.

"Good enough that the government wants it's usage restricted," Jeff said calmly. The program had started as an experiment of John's for International Rescue as a way to try and see rescues from the ground on an equal footing with his family. It was while Alan and John were playing around with the program that they discovered it could be adjusted for limited usage through a ground operator. It still worked best when operated on Thunderbird Five but the family had agreed they wouldn't want that level of intelligence available to any government. It was best kept within International Rescue.

Delgado looked hopeful. "Is this satellite program one that could have possibly spotted the suspects' car? Maybe we can discover who moved it – or better yet, get us a license plate?"

Jeff looked thoughtful before sitting down at one of the computer terminals. "Give me a minute." Typing in some commands, he waited for acknowledgement before the vid-phone on the table flared to life.

Hiram "Brains" Hackenbacker appeared on the screen, his bespectled face smiling at the site of his boss and friend. "M-Mr. T-Tracy…" Brains voice trailed off as he saw the tightness of Jeff's face and the pained expression in the other man's eyes. The scientist knew of only one thing that could bring that combination of fear and hurt to the billionaire.

"Wh-what h-happened, Jeff?" Brains asked softly. "What h-happened t-to one of the b-boys?"

Jeff gave a small, bittersweet smile. "Why do you only call me Jeff when the situation is really bad?"

Brains' answering smile rapidly failed as Jeff explained just what had happened. The scientist briefly looked over his shoulder to where his only son, Fermat, had turned at the sound of Jeff's voice. As the situation had been explained and the teen had discovered the danger that his best friend, Alan, and his surrogate big-brother, John, were in, Fermat's eyes had filled with tears.

"_Alan," _Fermat thought, keeping silent as his father discussed the use of John's program. _"You are my best friend. But how are we supposed to grow up and take on the world when you keep endangering your life?"_

Fermat knew he was being unreasonable, but seriously – even if you rolled all of the incidents with the Hood into one, Alan had, in recent months, almost died twice before today. The Hood had nearly barbequed them in Thunderbird One's silo, then they had been shot at and then Alan had been repeatedly attacked while with his father in the Bank of London. At the end of the school year, Alan had been run down and nearly killed by a drunken Barry Shaheen. And now his friend was apparently caught in the middle of a bank robbery with gun-wielding nutcases?

That was it. Life officially sucked.

* * *

Looking down at the satellite phone, Sherri played with it for a minute before turning back to the hostages. Motioning to her cohorts, she gestured towards the Tracy brothers.

"I don't think the phone belongs to the bank employee -"

"Casey," Mac supplied, flinching when the other two glared at him.

"Why wouldn't it?" Kevin asked.

Mac answered instead. "Bank employees, even contract ones, wouldn't be allowed to carry a cell phone on them. And this?" he said, taking the phone from Sherri's hand. "This is not something you can walk into Best Buy and take home. This is a custom job. That usually means money."

Carefully examining the hostages, Sherri nodded. "The bank manager was dressed well. Upper middle class. The receptionist? Probably spends more than she can afford on clothes or has "friends" who pick up tabs so she can dress like she does. The rest are dressed somewhere between K-Mart and JC Penney's. But the two blondes?"

"What?" Kevin popped out. "They have grass stains and traces of mud on them. Wouldn't that be more of the K-Mart crowd?"

Sherri shook her head. "Nope. They may have been out exercising or something. But those are high-end clothes. Not "look at me" like the bimbo in the Jimmy Choo. Just high-value athletic gear. That matches the phone."

Snatching back the phone from Mac, Sherri stalked over to the Tracys before shoving the phone in Alan's face. "Is this your phone, kid?" she snarled at the fifteen year old.

Alan froze, glancing at his brother before glaring at Sherri. He wasn't going to act like some whimpering kid in front of yet another nut job.

Seeing the bright blue eyes glare at her with contempt, something in Sherri snapped. With speed and strength the hostages were unaware that the woman possessed, Sherri reached down and grabbed Alan by the arm. Brutally pulling him from his brother's protective hold, she slammed the teenager into the wall.

"Go ahead, you miserable little brat," she snarled. "Give me a reason. Give me a damn reason to make sure that this is the last day of your life." Pressing her gun underneath Alan's chin, Sherri held him tightly by the neck, dropping the phone with a clatter to the floor.

"You wanna play hero," Sherri growled. "Let's see what kind of hero you are with your pretty boy face spattered all of the walls." Pushing the gun closer into the teen's face even as Alan felt his oxygen being cut off by her gloved hand, Sherri snarled once more.

"Give me a reason."

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A/N - There. Wasn't that the perfect place to leave it?

**Scott - No, it most certainly isn't! You left my little brother in the hands of a nutcase!**

**Sam1 - Ah, hate to tell you but ever since CC started writing for fan fiction - he always has been.**

**CC - I resemble that remark!**

**Alan - Yes. Yes you do. I mean, it was bad enough that you leave us for two weeks -**

**CC - Hey, I had some simple surgery last week and my dad, who hasn't been doing well lately, was admitted to the ICU on Saturday. He's still there. And my 2nd job is needing me more, because I am experienced. Retail has such a high turnover. So back off blondie - or I can do something bad?**

**Alan - Like what?**

**Sam1 (whispers) - Alan, there are three people with guns. CC determains what happens next. And your other three brothers are on a rescue. Something could happen there as well. NEVER tempt CC.**

**CC - Yeah, keep repeating the mantra - No death fics - and take comfort in it.**

**Sam1 - You SURE no death fics? Because sharkbait -**

**CC - WHAT did I say about calling Emily that?**

**Sam1 (sighs) - That you would have John do an incredibly romantic proposal if I said that.**

**Alan (whispers to Scott) - I think we should lock Sam1 in the closet. She's annoying CC.**

**CC- I have a better idea. Sam1? John is in that closet there. (Sam1 runs to the closet that CC locks behind her.) Ha! Fooled her.**

**The Tracys look at each other before Scott says "No, John was in there. You just locked her in the closet with John."**

**CC - Guess I don't have to get her anything for Christmas. Or birthday. Or Bastille Day. Pie anyone?**

**Alan - It's official - she's nuts.**

**CC - Nope. No nuts. Blueberry/ raspberry gluten free pie.**

**Alan - Listen lady...(Sees Scott eating some pie) Scott!**

**Scott (swallows) - Sorry Alan - but it's pie.**

**CC - Sammygirl1963 is right. You are Dean Winchester with money.**

**Alan - But which has the cooler ride?**

**CC (leading Alan to the table for pie) - That, my boy, is a debate for the ages. Pie? (looks away) Good night!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - Let me put it this way - If you recognize a character from anywhere but one of my stories, then there is an excellent chance that is NOT an OC. I do own my OCs and ask if you want to borrow any of them, even with a slight change in name, you ASK ME FIRST. Other people will spot them and guess what? You will be busted. Yes, I hope THAT person is reading that because I did hear about someone BORROWING a character of mine. SOOOOO not cool here, person**_.

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Chapter Eleven

Jeff turned off the vid-phone after Brains assured him that he would scan the satellite imagery and see what he could find in a six block radius of the bank. Shifting in his seat, the billionaire turned to see Agent Delgado watching him carefully.

"Yes, Agent?" he asked with a calmness far from what he was feeling.

"You had good timing," Daria said. "I was headed back there," she gestured at the small waiting room, "when I was interrupted."

The source of the interruption, Detective Hendrickson, glared at her. "I'm trying to do my job," he snapped.

"Fine," Daria said with deceptive serenity. "Just don't try and do my job. I'm a damn good team leader, with experience as a hostage negotiator and even did a turn with the BAU. You do NOT want me to submit a profile of you with my report. It will make it through channels and any plans you may have that do not consist of being a school cross walk guard will go down the proverbial toilet. Got it?"

As the detective stalked off, muttering about having to talk to one of the initial responders, Jeff shook his head. "He's determined to cause you trouble."

"Let him," Daria said cheerfully. "We Morgendorfers are tough women. Mom is a corporate lawyer and my sister is a regional manager for Trends Casual Wear; we kick ass on a regular basis."

"Morgendorfer?" Ann-Marie snorted.

"Is it any wonder I use my married name?" Daria grinned. "My sister doesn't. Then again, she married her college boyfriend, which would have made her Quinn Flynn."

Even when the men looked confused, Ann-Marie just smiled. Yeah, she got it.

The vid-phone signaled an incoming call before anyone could add anymore to the conversation.

"M-Mr. Tr-Tracy?" Fermat's shaky voice came across, making Jeff give a small smile to the boy he had watched grow up with his own baby.

"Hey, Fermat," Jeff said, waiting for the teen to speak.

"D-Dad was able t-to get the ima-imag- the pictures fr-from the b-bank area," Fermat stuttered.

"Why's the kid so nervous?" Agent Sanders muttered to Carl. "He scared of Mr. Tracy?"

"Nah," Carl dismissed. "That's Alan's best friend. He and his father live on Tracy Island and Jeff pays for the kid to go to the same boarding school as Alan. No, both he and his father talk like that. Jeff says their brains just move too fast to keep up with their speech."

"B-based on th-the info f-from the FBI," Fermat continued, "D-Dad thinks he located the c-c-c- auto involved." He clicked on a few keys, before speaking again. "T-transmitting d-data now."

Jeff turned to the computer next to him, gesturing for Agent Delgado to join him. Daria moved closer, leaning over Jeff's shoulder. Her eyes went wide at the quality of the image on the screen in front of her.

"Damn," she muttered. "I can see why the government wants this restricted." Turning to Fermat, she smiled at the teenager. "Tell your dad good work, kid."

Fermat beamed, obviously thrilled to be any help in rescuing Alan and John. "I-I'll d-do that, Ma'am. And Mr. T-Tracy, Dad said he w-will k-keep l-looking for m-more info."

"Good job, Fermat," Jeff smiled. "Tell your Dad I said I owe him one."

Signing off, Jeff turned to Daria as the FBI agent reviewed the images on the screen. "Got anything useful?" he asked hopefully.

"Well," Daria said, "if you want to count the bad guys pulling up, masks on – which must have been uncomfortable – no. But if you count a clear shot at the license plate and the guy who drove the car off? We just might get some help here, after all."

Anything further Agent Delgado would have said was halted when Jeff's cell phone rang. The anxious father pulled it out only to go even paler. "Alan?" he whispered.

Snapping open the phone, Jeff was surprised when the teenager didn't use the built-in vid-phone. "Alan? Where are you?"

The harsh voice that answered definitely wasn't Alan Tracy.

"_Sorry to disappoint you, but I needed a phone and your son so generously offered his…"_

**

* * *

**

Fifteen Minutes Earlier

John Tracy could feel Alan's slight trembles that the teenager was trying desperately to keep hidden.

"_Damn it," _John grumbled in his mind. _"Hasn't he been through enough lately? Alan's barely fifteen. How much more does fate have in mind for my little brother?"_

"Damn it," Alan muttered. Feeling his brother's surprised glance at him, Alan just shrugged. "I don't know about you, John, but I am sick of feeling like fate really is a bitch and I'm her favorite chew toy."

John chuckled, relieved that all of this hadn't made Alan lose his sense of humor. Pulling the teenager closer, he rested his chin on top of Alan's head, absently noting he wouldn't be able to do that much longer. Alan was already taller than Gordon, as tall as Virgil, of a height with John, and could possibly be the tallest of the sons, beating Scott's 6 feet 1 inch. John was thinking of saying that to Alan when he tensed, noticing the gunmen looking over at them as they talked. Remembering that Casey had been carrying his book, he worried that they had figured out that they were Jeff Tracy's sons. There would be no chance of them being released quickly if the robbers knew they could make millions simply by switching which felony they would be guilty of.

The female leader – "Sherri", John thought he had heard someone call her – sprinted towards them, shoving Alan's cell phone in his face.

"Is this your phone, kid?" she snarled.

John watched as Alan turned to him first, his wide blue eyes reflecting his fear and stress before the azure orbs hardened. _"Damn," _John thought. _"Of all the times for Alan to pull a Scott."_

The older brother was focusing on Alan but wasn't ready for Sheri to reach down and grab Alan by his t-shirt. A slight ripping sound could be heard as the material tore slightly, but the woman had his little brother in a death grip as she shoved Alan into a wall. John winced in sympathy at the pained expression on Alan's face when his back slammed against the unforgiving surface.

"Go ahead, you miserable little brat," the madwoman snarled. "Give me a reason. Give me a damn reason to make sure that this is the last day of your life." Pressing the gun to Alan's neck, Sherri held him tightly, letting the phone drop to the floor, the noise echoing in the now silent bank. It was a tribute to Brains' workmanship that the device didn't shatter on the marble floor.

"You wanna play hero," Sherri growled. "Let's see what kind of hero you are with your pretty boy face spattered all of the walls."

John noticed in horror that Alan's face was turning a purple red as oxygen was cut off by the death grip the woman had on his brother's neck. He started to rise even as Sherri snarled once more.

"Give me a reason." She snapped as she pressed even harder against Alan's trachea.

Jumping to his feet, John screamed, "How can he answer, you idiot? He can't even breathe!" John tried to move forward only to be grabbed by the slightly shorter gunman – the one who hadn't shot anyone yet.

"_Don't," _Mac hissed at John before looking at Sherri.

"Sher – he can't answer you. You gotta let go of his throat."

Sherri released Alan's throat, only to roughly grab him by the arm when the teenager began to slide down the wall. As Alan raggedly breathed, she hissed, "Is that your phone, kid?"

Mac sighed. This had been a pretty good plan but his cohorts were determined to see them all end up as guests of the State of New York, awaiting a visit with the needle. Grabbing his own weapon more firmly, he held it up against John's head. Making sure he had Alan's attention, Mac said calmly, "My friend asked you a question. Is that your phone?"

* * *

Emily Haas yanked off her lab coat, throwing it into her locker before pulling out her oversized purse. Tossing her cell phone and some change into the bag, the doctor made sure she had her keys and sunglasses before heading out of the physicians' locker room.

"Emily?"

The young doctor turned and gave a half hearted smile to Renee. Ever since she had arrived at Mercy General, the head of nursing had gone out of her way to make sure the other woman, of an age with her oldest son, was taken care of.

"How mad is Dr. Brady?" Emily asked, knowing that the Chief of Staff and Head of Nursing were old friends.

"He's not," Renee said. "And he said in thanks for you putting Dr. Sommers in his place, turn your pager off for the weekend. Maybe you should go visit your boyfriend for a couple of days."

"John is in New York with his dad and youngest brother," Emily said. "He asked me to go, but -"

"Dad a bit old-fashioned?" Renee guessed at Emily's slight blush.

"Especially when Alan is around," Emily agreed.

"Well, he's just going to have to marry you," Renee joked before she saw the small smile on Emily's face. "Emily!" she gasped. "Did he ask you?"

"Not exactly," Emily said. "But – Well, from what he said before he left, I think he will soon."

"Girl!" Renee squealed as she put an arm around the younger woman's shoulders. "Details! I want details!"

Emily chuckled as they began to walk towards the Staff Parking Lot, recalling the last evening she spent with John…

"_John," Emily laughed as John tried to feed her some Chinese food. "I can feed myself, you goof!"_

"_I like taking care of you," John said with a smile before setting the chopsticks down. Nuzzling Emily's neck, he whispered into her skin, "I want to always take care of you."_

"_I'm a big girl," Emily said. "I've been taking care of myself for years."_

"_You should have someone you can lean on," John said, kissing her behind the ear. "Everyone should have someone."_

"_Not everyone has the kind of family you do," Emily shrugged._

"_Well, you could share mine."_

_Emily froze before turning to John. "To do that," Emily said quietly, "I would have to live on the Island."_

"_So?"_

"_Your father wouldn't approve," Emily chided him. "And I respect him too much to violate his rules. Besides, he wants you older boys to set a good example for Alan. Especially with Alan's girlfriend already living just down the hill from him."_

"_Well," John mused as he played with a lock of Emily's golden hair, "if we were married, Dad wouldn't be able to say a thing."_

"_I don't recall you asking me," Emily smiled coyly._

"_When I ask you, I want it to be special."_

"_When you ask me," Emily sighed as she curled up against John's chest and he pulled her closer, "it will be."_

"_You that sure of me?" John teased._

"_Yes."_

_When Emily remained silent, John looked down at her, humbled by the love and trust in his love's midnight blue eyes. He tried to think of something to say only to find himself kissing her passionately. "Home," he whispered before kissing Emily again. _

_With this woman, wherever they may be, John Tracy was home._

"That is so romantic," Renee gushed as they stood by Emily's Prius before the nurse frowned. "So why didn't you just go to New York with him?"

"One," Emily said, "with my luck I would run into my mother and after her last rather insulting communiqué, I don't trust myself not to take a swing at her. And two – John went with his father and brother."

"Doesn't Jeff Tracy think his sons are adults?"

"Four are," Emily said simply. "Alan isn't. And on that I agree. Alan hero-worships his older brothers. And if his brothers flaunt Mr. Tracy's rules -"

"OK, I get it," Renee sighed. "But still…"

"Yeah," Emily grinned. "When he gets back, John will make it up to me." She got a faraway look in her eye as she climbed into the car. Waving at Renee absently, Emily left the nurse curious about her last words.

"I wonder if I have any ice cream at home."

* * *

Alan was on his knees, one hand to his throat as he painfully breathed in. His other arm was being roughly pulled upward by the same lunatic who had been choking him only a moment ago. Somewhere in the distance, Alan knew he had heard John frantically yelling but he wasn't sure exactly what his brother had been saying. But as his breath calmed somewhat, he could hear another voice.

"My friend asked you a question. Is that your phone?"

Alan looked up, his blood going cold at the sight of a gun pointed at John's head. Biting his lower lip, he worried it for a moment as he made sure he had his older brother's attention. Seeing the slight nod John directed him, Alan spoke.

"Yes. Yes, it's mine."

"So," Sherri snarled, "if you don't want my friend to ventilate your brother's head, you'll unlock the phone."

Alan took the phone from Sherri's grasp, punching in a code. Sherri started to grab the device when Alan raised his hand in a "wait" gesture. To the surprise of everyone but the two brothers, a small panel slid open, with Alan placing his thumb on a tiny pad. A faint "beep" could be heard in the silent bank before Alan handed the phone over to Sherri.

"Without me doing that, the phone would lock itself back up in three minutes," Alan explained.

Sherri nodded quickly before pulling Alan roughly to his feet, pushing him back to John. Mac had dropped the gun from John's head the moment Alan had begun to punch his codes in and stepped back when the teenager stumbled into his older brother's protective embrace.

John held his youngest brother close, glancing up at Mac. "We never said we were brothers," he muttered softly.

Behind his mask, Mac gave a small smile. "You didn't have to."

Sherri held the phone, staring at it for a moment before her two associates joined her.

"So?" Kevin asked. "Call the cops, get us out of here."

"It's not that simple," Sherri explained.

"Why not?"

Mac sighed in frustration before cuffing Kevin in the back of the head. "Yeah, like she can just call 911 and ask to speak to the person in charge of handling hostage situations in Manhattan." Musing for a moment, he turned to Sherri.

"But a family member might already have been contacted. Or at least would be highly motivated to see the right person would be contacted."

Sherri nodded in satisfaction. Looking at the call history, Sherri hit the "call button", returning the last call received. An anxious voice answered.

"_Alan? Where are you?"_

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I needed a phone and your son so generously offered his," Sherri sniped, unreasonably agitated at the sound of the worried father's voice.

John and Alan glanced at each other. This wasn't going to be good.

* * *

Realizing it was the hostage takers on the other end of the phone, Agent Delgado motioned to Jeff to set the phone down and place it on the table. Hitting the speaker button, Jeff did as she asked.

"_Well, __**Dad**__,_" the voice said sarcastically. "_Do you know where your sons are?"_

"Are John and Alan alright?" Jeff asked, worry obvious in his voice.

"_For now_," Sherri said coldly. _"Tell me, __**Dad, **__have you been watching the news? Heard about the robbery at the Metro Union Bank? The same one your sons are in at the moment?"_

"I have heard of the situation and suspected that my sons were there," Jeff confirmed.

Daria nodded in approval. There was no point in letting the robbers see all of their cards.

"_Have the authorities been in contact with you?" _Sherri asked. _"Because the faster we get this resolved, the sooner your sons are out of harm's way. So I need you to help me get in touch with the cop in charge."_

Speaking up, Daria interrupted. "This is Supervisory Special Agent Daria Delgado of the FBI. I'm with – I have some of the family members here with me at the Command Post."

"_Great," _Sherri said sarcastically. _"So you can arrange for our demands to be met."_

"The United States Government is not in the habit of negotiating with terrorists," Daria said calmly. "And under the Homeland Protection Act of 2015, you would fall under that category. I am, however, authorized to negotiate your surrender."

"_I don't think you are taking this seriously," _Sherri snarled.

Before Daria could say anything, a new voice screamed out over the phone. _"They aren't taking us serious? I'll show them serious!"_

Jeff eyes widened in fear when he heard John yell out _"Leave my brother alone!"_

The sound of a gunshot made everyone in the command post freeze –

* * *

_**A/N - Hmmm. Sam1 and Sammygirl1963 both say you will think that was a mean cliffie. I disagree. I can do SOOOO much worse. And I am sulking at the moment, since hardly ANYONE reviewed my last chapter of Never a Dull Moment. Me sulking usually translates into whump. But I think some of you like that a bit too much so maybe I shouldn't tell you that.**_

_**And today is my 17th wedding anniversary but my parents' 50th. Is that cool or what? Laters! ~ CC**_


	12. Chapter 12

A**lan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - If I owned them, I wouldn't have to write that I don't own them. Get it?**_

**

* * *

**

Chapter Twelve

Jeff felt as if his heart had stopped. That was a gunshot. His boys. John. Alan. Which one had just been shot?

Images flashed through his mind. A tiny John, staring up at the stars as his father talked about his space missions. A newborn Alan, monitors hooked up, making sure the baby was still breathing. An angry John, trying to deal with Lucy's death - and things a boy his age should have never had to deal with on his own. An angry Alan, trying to find a place in his family – a place that should have been his by rights, something his family had almost discovered too late. John's face the first time Emily had come to the Island, as if he was pleased that the image had lived up to his fantasy. Alan's face filled with wonder of young love as he sat in silence with Tin-Tin, her gentle touch erasing the pain he was exposed to by the Hood or after his accident at the end of the school year.

A rough voice broke the horrified silence in the Command Post.

"_Well, what do you know? We now have an injured hostage as well. I think it might be in the best interest of everyone involved, if the United State Government makes an exception to the rules and negotiates with us, don't you?"_

Agent Delgado looked grim before she spoke. "I'll have to speak with my supervisors. But I can assure you I am dedicated to getting everyone – including you and your associates – out of this alive. Can we ask who was shot?"

"_No. You can't. Now you speak with your superiors, and get back to me. __**Dad **__has the number."_

The dial tone filled the room and tore at Jeff's heart.

"_Please, Lucy," _he prayed. _"Be with our boys."_

* * *

High above the Earth, Fermat Hackenbacker had been thrilled when the trace he had put on Alan's phone indicated the phone was in use. Hacking in, he heard the conversation, his heart in his throat at the echoing gun shot. As tears began to stream down his face, the teen felt a firm but gentle touch on his shoulder. Looking up, Fermat saw his father standing beside him.

"D-Dad -" Fermat began before Brains cut him off.

"I know, s-son," the older man comforted his son. "B-but th-the boys have c-c-c _survived_ worse. Th-they'll b-be OK."

As he pulled his only child into a gentle embrace, reminded at this moment that for all his maturity, in many ways Fermat was still just a boy, the elder Hackenbacker prayed that he was right. Because the Tracy Family – his family – couldn't survive the loss of Alan or John. And if it were Alan, it would be both boys, as John would never forgive himself if Alan were hurt on his watch.

* * *

Emily Haas entered her condo, keying in the security code behind her automatically. Kicking off her shoes and dropping her purse on a table by the entry way, the young physician made her way into the kitchen. Pulling out a small tub of ice cream, Emily dug a spoon out and began to nibble at the Rocky Road Ice Cream.

"MMM," she sighed. "The ultimate comfort food." Smiling at a picture taped to the fridge – one of her and John that Alan had taken the last time she had been on the Island – Emily grinned. "But it's a lot more fun to eat when you are here."

A loud crash made Emily almost drop the ice cream. Whirling around with a squeak, she sighed in frustration at the sight in front of her.

"Mr. Waddles!" Emily snapped at the cat, now casually grooming himself on her patio. Setting the ice cream down on the counter, she stalked over to the French doors, unlocking one and pushing it open. "That was an orchid I was going to bring to Kyrano the next time I went to the Island."

The cat looked unconcerned as he let himself into Emily's condo. "Sure," she snapped. "Make yourself at home."

Grabbing a broom and dustpan, Emily cleaned up the mess, grumbling about obnoxious males who disrupt a girl's life. Tossing out the remnants of the pot and plant, Emily heading back into the kitchen only to screech, "Mr. Waddles!"

The chubby feline looked up with disinterest before continuing his meal of Emily's ice cream. Glaring at the cat, Emily stalked back into the living room, calling behind her, "After you are done eating MY ice cream, let yourself out, will you?"

Plopping down on her favorite recliner with a last disgruntled glare at the kitchen area, Emily turned on the television. "News," she muttered. "Someone has to be having a worse day than me."

The anchor looked out, a combination of solemnity and glee that only the fourth estate seemed to manage on his face.

"_In the heart of New York City, a hostage situation at the Manhattan branch of the Metro Union Bank has frozen commerce. The Tracy Towers, located near the bank, is one of the many businesses that have been evacuated in case the violence spills out from the bank. A police officer has been critically injured and is still in surgery at this time. There is no word if anyone inside the bank has been injured but we will be following this breaking news…"_

Getting up from her chair, Emily pulled out her cell phone again. Dialing John's number, she tried to assure herself that it was a coincident that the hostage situation was happening right near where the Tracys were. But as the call went to voice mail, the assurance was fading fast…

John pressed his hands down against the bleeding wound, looking over at the one apparently sane gunman.

"Please! I need something to stop the bleeding,"

The man nodded, shrugging off a restraining hand from one of his associates, glaring at him. "I wouldn't need to do this if you hadn't been so trigger-happy, Kevin."

Grabbing a jacket from a nearby chair, Mac handed it to John, ignoring Lisa's yelp of indignation.

"That is a Versace jacket, you Neanderthal!"

"Tough," Marie snapped as she yanked the silk scarf from the receptionist's neck. "They need it – and this – more than you." Stretching, she handed the scarf to John.

"Thanks," he muttered as he wrapped the scarf over the wound and around the leg, securing the jacket.

"Do you know how expensive that band-aid is?" Lisa screeched.

Casey glared at Lisa. "So? If I had my Selena Gomez clothes, I'd give them up."

"There is a huge difference between Saks and K-Mart," the receptionist sniped.

Alan looked over at the woman from his position behind Casey. "Yeah, you paid a lot more for Casey's bandage than she would have?"

John and Casey smirked at Alan's smart ass remark before Casey groaned in pain.

"Damn it," John glared at the robbers. "Why'd you shoot her?"

When no one answered him, Casey glared as well. "Hey! Answer him! I'd like to know why I have a freaking hole in my leg and – AH! Damn it! That hurts," she whimpered as John pressed down, securing the sleeves under the scarf in an attempt to put more pressure on the wound.

"I hear getting shot can do that," Alan joked as he held Casey up. When the young woman glared at him, Alan shrugged. "Trust me, getting hit with a car hurts, too."

Her face softening, Casey clutched at Alan's arm. "Yeah, kid – I bet it did." Tossing another glare over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed in on the gun-wielding nutcases.

"Why'd you have to shoot me?"

"I wasn't aiming at you," Kevin whined.

"Yeah," John snarled. "You were aiming at my fifteen year old brother. What kind of sick bastard tries to shoot a kid?"

Alan grumbled something that sounded like "scullion" or "mullion" – Casey wasn't sure. But before she could say anything, the leader glared and snapped at the hostages.

"My friend didn't want to kill anyone – at this time. But we will be taken seriously."

"Fine," Alan said calmly. "So try some mutual exchange, some give and take. You give something, they'll give something." Seeing John and Casey stare at him in amazement, Alan shrugged before whispering, "What? You think I never paid attention when Dad was negotiating business deals?"

"The kid has a point," Mac said. "We could send the girl out. She's hurt."

"No," Sherri responded coldly. "We don't have that many hostages. I can't afford to release one so early in the game."

"Well," Alan mused. "You could have someone come in. John's helping Casey, but he lacks proper equipment. Police and Fire Departments tend to have personnel trained as paramedics."

Sherri looked at Alan thoughtfully. The kid had a point.

"Fine," she finally spoke up. Handing the phone to John, she snapped, "Call _Dad_; tell him to have that agent -"

"Delgado," Mac interrupted.

Sherri glared at her cohort before continuing. "Yeah. Agent Delgado is to get some paramedics in here and they can treat her wound. But then they'll owe me something. Right, kid?"

Alan shrugged. "At least they'll know you are willing to work with them. An open and honest line of communication is vital to successful negotiation." When John and Casey stared at him again, Alan sighed before whispering, "Honestly – I do pay attention to Dad. Why do you think I usually just yelled? I knew I couldn't win in negotiations."

"I don't know," Casey said even as John hit redial. "I think you might eventually give your Dad a run for his money."

John started to raise the phone up, only to halt when Sherri gestured sharply with her gun. Pulling it away to use on speaker phone, John waited with bated breath for it to be picked up.

"_Hello -"_

* * *

The ringing of Jeff's phone caught the attention of everyone in the command post. Keeping the phone on the table, set to "speaker", Jeff answered the call with a cautious, "Hello."

"_Dad?"_

Jeff's knees went weak and he had to quickly take a seat. Wiping a shaking hand over his mouth, it took him three times before he could answer.

"John? Are you alright?"

"_I'm fine, Dad. We both are."_

Clenching his hands together so tightly they were turning white from the pressure, Jeff nodded. Suddenly recalling that they were not using a vid-phone, Jeff spoke to his son. "That's good. But they said -"

"_Dad, is Carl there?"_

"I'm here, John," Carl Patrick answered, dreading knowing why John would want to know but suspecting he knew. John's next words confirmed his fears.

"_Casey was the one shot," _John explained. _"Now, the um, well – the bank robbers have said that they want to prove they will negotiate in good faith."_

"John?" Daria spoke up then. "This is Special Agent Delgado of the FBI. What kind of proof are they offering? Are they willing to release a hostage?"

"_No," _John answered, suspecting correctly how disappointing that was to everyone in the room – especially the two anxious fathers. _"But they are willing to allow some medics in here to treat Casey. And you need to make sure they are from the fire department, no police.'_

"I need a guarantee of safe passage for anyone I send in," Delgado said. "I'm not going to give them more hostages."

A muttered conversation before John spoke up again. _"They said that as long as no one tries anything they'll have it. And you need to know, for as long as the medics are in here -" _John's voice went for a moment and they could only hear his shaky breathing before he continued. _"For as long as the medics are in here, Alan will be pulled aside and they'll have a gun to his head. Anyone tries anything - Alan will be the first to die."_

Agent Delgado looked annoyed but she spoke up. "OK. Tell them they have my word – No one will be doing anything except treating the gun-shot victim."

"_Call when the medics are on their way in."_

Daria was about to say something when she realized by the faded light on the phone that the call had been terminated on the other end.

Hendrickson spoke up. "We can get two undercover cops -"

"And risk my fifteen year old son's life!" Jeff snapped in fury.

"No cops," Daria said.

"You can't expect an unarmed firefighter to go into a hostage situation," Hendrickson growled.

"I'll call the chief," Daria responded, "and ask for some volunteers."

"You think you'll get some?" Ann-Marie asked.

The agent shrugged with a small smile. "Probably. I mean, these are guys who run into a burning building when everyone else is running out. The odds are on my side."

* * *

Scott radioed to Virgil at the controls of Thunderbird Two as he made one last sweep around the sinking cruise ship. The vessel, now listing badly to the right, was harder to get around then when they had first arrived almost an hour earlier.

"Virg – Gordy is coming up with what should be the last of the rescued. Send the platform back down once he gets everyone off."

"Sounds good, Scott," Virgil responded. "Gordon and the platform should be back down -"

"Just the platform, Virg," Scott said. "That one passenger was complaining of chest pains. I'd rather Gordon took over the controls and you look that guy over. We don't want to be dealing with a massive MI."

"If you're sure, Scott," Virgil said, doubt clear in his voice.

"I'm sure," Scott answered confidently.

Scott made his way back to the end of the ship where they had been landing, having confirmed that no one else was left on the doomed vessel. All in all, this was a good one. No serious injuries, no loss of life. Looking up, he spotted the rescue platform coming towards him. Stepping back slightly, Scott took note of two things: One, the wind was playing havoc with the platform and, two - it was coming down slower than usual.

"Hey, guys," Scott called up, "what's with the platform being on slow?"

"I can maintain greater control over it if I have it moving on a low speed," Gordon asked. "Why? You in a hurry to go somewhere?"

"Anywhere but here sounds good, Fish face," Scott remarked.

"Is the ship listing worse?" Gordon inquired, concern lacing his voice.

"Not dramatically," Scott answered. "But still – yikes!"

"You OK?" Virgil's voice came over the speaker.

"Yeah, just slipped," Scott responded as the rescue platform was finally – to his undisguised relief – within reach. As he fought the wind to open the gate and pull himself onto the swaying platform, Scott began to speak to his middle brother.

"Hey, Virg – thought you were focusing on the MI?"

"What MI?" Virgil said in annoyance. "The guy kept munching even as the ship was sinking. He's got heartburn. Let out a huge belch and is starting to feel better already."

Scott let out a small chuckle and was about to tell his brothers to pull him up when another gust of wind made him almost fall. Grabbing one of the safety belts on the side of the platform, Scott had just secured himself to the railing when he heard a loud _crack_. Glancing over his shoulder, Scott saw a satellite dish that had broken off from near the bridge coming straight at him.

Ducking, the dish missed Scott's head by inches but hit the platform, causing the device to rattle and throwing the oldest Tracy son off balance. Scott started to fall once more, but the belt caught him in time.

Unfortunately, the next _crack_ Scott heard was that of his head hitting the railing. Then he heard nothing at all -

* * *

_**A/N - See? That was nice, right?**_

_**Alan - NICE? Lady, Scott is knocked out cold, dangling by a piece of reinforced fabric and metal, being pulled into the air.**_

_**CC - Well, at least I attached him to the platform. In the origional draft, he never even made it to the platform. I knocked him out on the cruise ship and he was slowly slipping towards the edge.**_

_**Scott - THAT was you being nice?**_

_**CC -Scott, after forty odd stories - all but what? seven? of them being Thunderbirds - and you made a guest starring turn in one of them - you should know I can be both meaner and more ruthless if it pushes the story line forward.**_

_**Alan (sighs) - C'mon Scott - just get John. He can usually get CC to be reasonable.**_

_**CC - Sorry, kid. But remember when he (cough) accidently locked John and Sam1 in the closet when last we spoke?**_

_**Scott (snickering) - Oh, yeah.**_

_**CC - The door is stuck. At least Sam1 swears it is. Frankly, I think she has locked it from the inside. And Scott - don't laugh. Jean wanted to do the same with you.**_

_**Alan (looking puzzled) - Why would someone want to be locked in the closet with a girl?**_

_**CC - Um, close talking. (When the brothers look puzzled, she shrugs) I watch Psych, too. They get it.**_

_**Scott - Well, to get back on point - Why am I knocked out? Like you said, you usually have a reason.**_

_**CC - If I told, I would give away storyline. And Jean is -well, sometimes with Sam1 - the only one who knows stuff ahead of time. Anyhoo - how about we sit back, have a cup of coffee and some chocolate chip cookies, and relax. **_

_**Scott - Chocolate chip?**_

_**Alan (scoffs) - My brother can't be swayed by mere cookies.**_

_**CC - Death by Chocolate Chocolate chip cookies.**_

_**Scott - Um, Allie - CC fixes it all in the end. So here, take your milk and have a cookie.**_

_**Alan (sighs) - Seriously, Scott - Dean Winchester with money.**_

_**CC - Here, Alan - cookie. Say good night, boys. Um, never mind - it's rude to talk with your mouths full. Laters folks! **_


	13. Chapter 13

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - So not mine. Hopefully, I would be more on time if I owned it.**_

_**

* * *

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**Chapter 13**

"Scott?" Virgil called out of the radio. "Scott? Can you hear me?"

As silence continued, Virgil became worried. "Gordo?" he called as he continued to make his way to the front of the big green 'Bird. "Check Scott's helmet-cam. He's not responding to me."

It seemed to take forever but eventually Gordon came back on-line. "Virg? I can see through Scott's helmet-cam and it looks like he is unconscious."

Stopping abruptly, Virgil began to head back to the lift-port area. "Are you sure, Gordon? Is he in any danger of falling?"

Gordon's voice held a slight tremor, holding back his fear knowing his brother needed him wasn't easy but he could do it. "No, it looks like he's secured by one of the safety belts. But with it being the only thing holding onto him, Scotty is really getting tossed about in the rescue platform due to the high winds."

Arriving at the lift port, Virgil was surprised to see the platform still only half way up. Absently noticing the rescued passengers and crew taking note of his sudden return, he fell into "in public" mode.

"OP Three to OP Four – Why is the platform not up yet?"

"OP Three – The Winds have gotten worse. I can't speed up the rescue platform without compromising integrity. If OP One were conscious, I could chance it but not with his current state."

Virgil held back a groan, helplessly watching as Scott and the platform slowly rose towards him.

"Is something wrong with your man?"

Looking over his shoulder, Virgil could see one of the passengers had made her way over to stand just behind him. Deciding he had nothing to lose, Virgil admitted, "He may have hit his head. We need to get him back up here."

"Can I help?" the woman asked, edging closer to Virgil.

Sighing Virgil shook his head. "Unless you have medical or rescue training, I doubt it."

The woman was now standing next to the middle Tracy son. "Well – I'm the oldest of seven kids, ram-rod/aunt to their off-spring and a kindergarten teacher. Does that help?"

Virgil grinned at the woman from beneath his visor. "Considering what OP One is like when he is hurt, that may help."

Reaching out a hand, the woman introduced herself. "I'm Jean Manning."

"Nice to meet you," Virgil said. "Sorry I can't give you my name."

"Well," Jean said cheerfully. "Then I'll just call you Sam."

"Sam?"

Jean shrugged. "I like it."

Any argument Virgil could have given froze in his throat by the arrival of the rescue platform. The sight of his oldest brother limply hanging by his waist, a trickle of blood trailing from underneath his visor, was a vision Virgil could have gone the rest of his life without witnessing.

Shaking away his fears, Virgil opened the safety gate and grasped Scott by his shoulder. "Hey," he softly spoke. "You hear me?"

Unbuckling the harness, Virgil gently picked up his brother with a grunt. "You are so going on a diet, dude."

Carrying Scott over to a monitored bed, Virgil began to pull the curtain in order to seal off the cubicle for privacy, when Jean elbowed her way in.

"Ma'am -"

"Jean," she corrected. "And I swear – teacher's honor – that I will never reveal anything I see or hear. Not like anyone would believe me."

"OK," Virgil reluctantly agreed.

Removing Scott's helmet, Virgil began to clean the wound, keeping his brother towards him so Jean couldn't clearly see Scott's face. Jean may have been a teacher, but the middle Tracy Brother was of the opinion she would have also made a hell of a nurse, handing him what he needed as soon – or even before – he said anything.

"So," Virgil asked as he finished stitching the spot where Scott's helmet had cracked a driven material into his brother's scalp, "what's a teacher from Georgia doing in the South Pacific?"

"My friend Alison," Jean said calmly. "The red-head with the sprained ankle?" she explained, continuing when Virgil nodded in remembrance.

"She came into some money and decided to do some travel time. But she wanted a simple cruise and her husband wanted to visit with his aunt – well, there are issues there for Alison. So her husband and daughter went to California to visit his sister, nephew and aunt while she invited me to join her on a cruise. After California, Alison's family will be meeting her in New Zealand. The husband loves Lord of the Rings, and some company does a tour of the sites from the films. It was the last day we had together, just the two of us."

Jean chuckled. "She had been joking at breakfast that everything was a bit too quiet. Alison," she grinned, "doesn't do quiet."

"And you do?" Virgil asked his amusement clear in his voice.

"Nope," Jean said cheerfully. "This, of course, would explain why the crew and passengers were giving her such weird looks."

"What exactly did you two do?" Virgil asked, stripping off his gloves before escorting Jean out of the cubicle.

A red-haired woman hobbled over the pair, nudging Jean. "Jeannie – what happens on the cruise ship, stays on the cruise ship."

Jean and Alison slowly headed back to the benches, where the red-head propped her foot up with a sigh. Soon the two women were whispering and giggling, leaving some shaking their heads in amusement.

But it was the looks of concern from a few others that made Virgil both curious and grateful that he didn't know what the two apparently unassuming women had been up to. Something told him he was better off not knowing.

Heading back into the cubicle, Virgil called up to Gordon. "OP Four, I have OP One on board and secure."

"How is he?"

"Probably a concussion, I'll be able to determine more once he regains consciousness. In the meantime, get us to the nearest safe port. And don't scratch my 'Bird!"

At the controls, Gordon smiled, knowing if Virgil could be worried about Thunderbird Two, Scott would be alright. And in the end, that was all that mattered.

* * *

Daria Delgado came back out to where Carl Patrick was seated behind the security entrance. The man was just hanging up the phone when Ann-Marie approached just ahead of the FBI agent.

"Carl?" Ann-Marie asked. "Do you want something to eat?"

The Head of Security quietly said, "No," before clearing his throat. "No, I don't think I could eat a thing at the moment."

The two long-time employees just looked at each other before Ann-Marie sighed. "Carl, starving yourself won't help Casey any."

"Ann-Marie," he growled in frustration, "do you honestly think I could eat without throwing up at the knowledge that my daughter is trapped inside that bank, that she has been shot and those bastards aren't letting her get the help she needs. Paramedics are good, but their main purpose is to get a patient stabilized until they can reach a hospital. Casey needs a hospital."

"Hopefully," Daria interjected, "we'll be able to get the paramedics to stabilize Casey enough that when the first demands come in, we can exchange Casey for that demand. As far as we know, no one has died in there yet. We need to believe that they want to keep it that way."

Looking around, the FBI agent became puzzled. She had been using the small conference room to speak in private with the New York Fire Chief. After ten minutes of having her ears ring from the man's incredulous yells from Daria's request for two volunteers, she knew no one else had been in there.

"Where's Mr. Tracy?" she finally asked.

"He went back upstairs to use his secure line," Ann-Marie said softly. When Daria continued to look puzzled, Ann-Marie gave a sad smile.

"He has three other sons he needs to tell about this. It won't be easy."

"To tell them what happened?" Daria questioned.

"Nope," Carl answered with a wry smile. "To keep them from flying out here and kicking ass. What's that expression the boys use?"

"The older take care of the younger?" Ann-Marie guessed. When Carl shook his head, Ann-Marie's smile matched his. "Oh. I know. Nobody messes with a Tracy but another Tracy."

"That would be the one," Carl agreed.

Daria shook her head. Recalling Ann-Marie's words of earlier, she could only hope the half of the Tracy family presently in New York would be all she was going to meet today.

* * *

Alan looked up at John, his worry for Casey clear on his face. The young woman saw the glances being exchanged between the brothers and decided it would be good to try and get them to relax.

"So," Casey said with mock cheerfulness, "what's new and different in your world?"

"John's dating a cute doctor," Alan responded.

"That would be Emily, right?"

Alan seemed a bit disappointed. "Aw, man – you knew?" When Casey nodded, Alan sighed. "Well, other than that, not much."

"'Cept, Alan has a girlfriend," John sing-songed, trying not to chuckle when Alan blushed.

"Really, Allie?" Casey asked. "Um -" she looked odd. "Don't you go to an all-boy school?"

"Yeah," Alan grinned, "but Tin-Tin lives on the Island. Her parents work for Dad."

"Wow," Casey joked. "Does that improve my odds with a Tracy brother?"

"Well," Alan said seriously. "Scott needs a woman who wouldn't take any crap, John has Emily and Gordon needs someone with LOTS of patience. And a sense of humor."

"So," Casey teased, "what makes a good match for Virgil."

Alan shrugged before saying quietly, "I always thought Sarah Jane was."

"Sarah Jane?" Casey asked curiously. "Who is that?"

John answered, sadness in his voice. "She was our neighbor in Kansas. Grew up with us. She was one of the few non-family members that Scott would trust Alan to after Mom died."

"Sarah Jane's family died in a fire and she moved away," Alan said sadly. "I haven't heard from her for five years. I guess she got busy."

Seeing John turn away slightly, Casey was puzzled. There was something that John knew and Alan didn't – and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what.

"Why are you talking?" Kevin screeched at the three on the floor, making the other hostages jump from where they were scrunched against the wall. Oddly enough, it only seemed to annoy the group he was yelling at.

"She's been shot," Alan said reasonably. "Casey needs to keep calm and quiet, unless you want to add murder to any charges you may otherwise be facing."

"Too late," Kevin sneered, gesturing towards the lobby.

When Alan looked confused – not able to see the bank manager's body from his location, John quietly explained. "They killed Mr. Mosley." Alan still seemed puzzled, while Casey shook his head.

"Seriously? He didn't deserve that. An ass-kicking, maybe, but not killed."

Marie snorted, trying to hold back laughter, which only made the other hostages – except Lisa – smile as well.

The amusement of the hostages didn't set well with Kevin, who was about to try threatening again when Mac stalked over.

"Check the storage area and break room. I'm gonna check the offices. Sher says she doesn't want any more surprises."

Kevin looked ready to argue when he saw Sherri glaring at him from the receptionist's desk. He knew that woman and there was no way he was about to do anything to anger her. Something that served to prove - there was a brain in his skull and it could work at times.

* * *

Delgado was in the middle of receiving a report from one of her agents when the man stopped talking, instead staring in the direction of the doors. Turning, Daria felt a cold chill begin to seep through her veins.

"Tony?" she croaked out, incredulous. Moving quickly to the two New York City Firefighter/Paramedics entering the lobby, Daria put out a hand.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, trying to school her features into not giving anything away.

"We were at headquarters when your request for two volunteers came over," the man Daria had addressed as Tony answered. "I told the Chief if the request came from you, it only made sense that I answer it. Boston here wanted to come as well."

A slender red-haired woman next to Tony held out a hand in greeting. "Sorry, Agent Delgado, but the name isn't Boston. Actually, I've only lived in Boston the last five years. I'm Firefighter S.J. Woodbury – Most people call me Woody. I don't know what this guy has been saying about me, but I'm the exchange from Boston." Glaring at Tony before grinning, Woody shook her head. "You don't call Donovan Chicago or Menheim Dallas."

Grinning, Tony shrugged. "It goes against every instinct to call a good looking woman Woody." Quickly looking back at Daria, he grinned disarmingly. "Of course, never as good looking as you."

"I take it you know each other?" Carl asked as he approached the every growing group.

"I hadn't met Woody yet -" Daria began, only to be interrupted.

"Not my fault," Tony said with another smile. "You missed dinner at my Ma's the week I was able to drag all of the paramedics who are cross training with "New York's Bravest"."

"I was doing hostage negation, you dork!" Daria said defensively. Seeing the grin only widen on Tony's face, Daria shook her head. "Ass," she muttered before answering Carl.

"Carl Patrick, head of security for Tracy Enterprises, meet Lieutenant Antonio Delgado, of the NYFD. He was recently appointed head trainer for the paramedic program for the department."

"Delgado?" Ann-Marie said in concern.

Daria chewed her lip for a minute before continuing. "My husband."

* * *

Jeff exited the elevator, running a hand through his hair.

"Keep that up, Boss, and you'll be bald soon," Ann-Marie teased as she approached her long-time employer.

"Ann-Marie," he grimaced, "if all I have been through in the last thirty years hasn't made me lose my hair, this won't. However, I think I feel another gray hair popping in."

Looking past Ann-Marie, Jeff noticed Agent Delgado arguing with a man in a uniform – maybe one of the paramedics? A woman in a similar outfit with bright auburn hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck was collecting equipment and supplies while trying to ignore the argument going on a few feet from her.

"Are those the paramedics?" Jeff asked.

Nodding, Ann-Marie gave a sad smile. "The man is Agent Delgado's husband." At Jeff's surprised look, she nodded once more. "As you can imagine, she is not all that happy about it."

Guiding Jeff forward, the woman joked, "Speaking of not happy, how did Scott take the news?"

Jeff sighed, as he joined the people gathered near Carl. Seeing Carl's interest – as well as that of a few other people – he shrugged. "Scott wasn't home. Seemed some business popped up, and they felt they could handle it since I am supposed to be on vacation today."

Ann-Marie knew that wasn't the case, sure that Jeff was instead referring to International Rescue, as most business issues she tended to be in the loop for. Great. Now, not only would Jeff be worrying about his sons in the bank, but he had to worry about sons on a rescue.

* * *

"Tony, are you nuts?" Daria snapped, looking up at her husband with concern.

"You always said I was," Tony shrugged. "That bit about running into a burning building when others are running out?"

Woody snorted, muttering, "Yeah, like cops are much better – running towards gunfire when everyone else is running away."

Glaring at the other woman, Daria growled, "Not helping the situation."

"Listen, Daria," Tony said calmly. "The truth of the matter is you need someone in there. I'm good and I'm sure as hell not going to send one of my people in there and not be willing to go myself. Now, smile and I'll ask Ma to make some tiramisu for you, OK?"

"Just -" Daria's voice trailed off before she swallowed and forced herself to continue. "Just bring yourself back, OK?"

Tony looked about to say something when Agent Sanders came out, drawing Daria's attention.

"Daria – the Tracys' contact came back with footage of the person who drove the car away. We're running it through the facial recognition software now."

Turning back to say goodbye to her husband, Daria was stunned to realize he was already making his way through the throngs of emergency vehicles surrounding the block, Woody trailing behind him. Steeling herself, she nodded at her fellow agent before speaking.

"Good work. Let's call the bad guys so they know to leave the light on."

* * *

In a corner of the lobby of the Tracy Towers, Detective Hendrickson pulled out his cell phone. Making sure no one was nearby, he made a call.

"Yeah, this is Hendrickson. Yes, I know I owe you something. But I've got it. Listen – the hostage situation at the Metro Union? Well, two of the hostages are Jeff Tracy's sons. Their names? John and Alan. Yeah, Alan – the one who was run down by the car earlier this year. No, no one else knows. Think about – Ana Nevada can break the exclusive news that two of Jeff Tracy's sons are among the hostages. That good enough for you to "lose" that footage of me? And remember – I want the original footage, got it?"

Hendrickson closed the phone back up, slipping it into his pocket, breathing a sigh of relief. That Nevada woman had caught him roughing up a gang member, trying to get some information. So what if the kid had needed to go to the ER afterwards? He had the info he needed to bring down the drug deal, didn't he? Ends should be allowed to justify the means. Although he doubted the commissioner would see it that way.

* * *

In the bank, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. The hostages were divided up three ways – Alan, John, Casey and Marie; Lisa an annoyed little island of her own self-importance; then the others, who seemed determined to make themselves as forgettable as possible.

Suddenly, Alan's phone rang, making everyone start in surprise. As John pressed the on button, opening the call, a woman's voice came over.

"Hello?"

"_John? This is Agent Delgado. Two paramedics are waiting outside on the sidewalk. Can you arrange for them to be let in?"_

Looking up at the leader, John saw her nod before answering. "Yes, someone will be there in a moment."

Sherri reached down to grab the phone, hanging up once more. Grabbing Alan, she motioned to Kevin and Mac, who had just returned from inspecting the rest of the bank.

"Mac? You stay here with our _guests. _I'll make sure the cops know that I am serious while Kevin opens the door. And Kevin? No shooting any cops unless they shoot first, OK?"

Alan would have laughed at that ridiculous statement except for the semi-automatic weapon pressed at the base of his skull and the chokehold the collar of his shirt made as the fabric was gathered tightly in the woman's fist.

"C'mon, kid," Sherri snarled. "It's show time."

* * *

_**A/N - Saved Scott. Now how will this affect everything? We shall see. Sorry this was a day late. I haven't been sleeping well, so I ate dinner, took an ambien and crashed. I needed it.**_

_**So review - make me happy. I write faster when happy. Or totally ticked. But that is when I shoot people and with the only gun at Alan's head, I don't think you want me ticked. ~ CC**_


	14. Chapter 14

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Dislaimer- Well, my birthday is on Sunday. Think I could get Thunderbirds for my birthday? If not, I'd settle for movie version Gordon or TV version Alan. (Movie version Alan is of an age with my own daughter and that is just WAAAYYY to creepy.) But since I will be lucky if anyone remembers - sigh - I'll have to keep denying I own the Thunderbirds. Happy?**_

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Chapter 14

Emily began to pace nervously, as the television continued to drone on in the background.

"John is fine, John is fine," the young doctor droned on constantly. But in her heart she knew he wasn't.

Picking up the cell phone from where she had tossed it on the table after her fourteen calls to John had gone unanswered, Emily considered calling the Island when a sudden knock on the door made her drop the device once more.

Running to the door, Emily barely remembered to turn off the alarm system and yanked open the door. Not recognizing the woman standing there, Emily became nervous as she mentally kicked herself for not checking to see who was at the door. Ghosting her fingers over the alarm pad, Emily was prepared to press the panic button if she had to. One thing that made her pick the system was the panic button, which could only be turned off by the security company after confirmation by the police department.

"Hi!" the cheerful stranger greeted Emily. "You must be Doctor Haas."

The soft southern American accent startled Emily, reminding her of her neighbor, Shannon. It often amused others in the neighborhood that the two young women were from America but both had such different accents, Shannon's Georgia raised drawl contrasting sharply against Emily's sharp Yankee accent.

"I'm Julie Steele, Shannon's mom. I was looking for Mr. Waddles. Shannon told me that y'all looked after that furball when she came home. I tell you, her Daddy and I can't wait until her contract is up and she comes back home. We have missed her so much and as far as I am concerned, the cat can come. Unfortunately, my sister is allergic to cats so I never had one but we love dogs. Anyhow, have you seen him?"

"_Wow," _was all Emily could think before kicking her brain back into gear. "Oh, yes, Mr. Waddles. He broke a pot, destroyed a plant and is now eating my ice cream."

"Oh, no," Julie wailed. "Ice cream? Adult cats should never have stuff like that! He'll be sick to his stomach. And with Shannon in the hospital -"

"Wait, what? Shannon's in the hospital?"

"Yes," Julie said absently entering the condo to look for her daughter's cat. "She hadn't been feeling well for a couple of weeks. The doc you recommended for her to see said it was her gallbladder. Poor baby needed surgery, so I flew out to take care of her. Shannon said with your work, you aren't home that much so I knew she needed her mother. I'm sure your mother would do the same."

Emily scoffed as she picked up the carton of ice cream still being covetously eyed by the cat before tossing it out. She was equally sure her mother wouldn't cross the street to spit on her if Emily was on fire.

"Oh, is this your brother?"

Whirling at the question – and knowing she had virtually no pictures of her family, except her late grandfather – Emily saw Julie looking at the photo of Emily and John on the fridge.

"No," Emily chuckled. "That's my boyfriend."

"Well," Shannon smiled. "At least you know what your kids would look like."

"Not necessarily," Emily shrugged. "Genetically, the options would be high for that blend – blond hair and blue eyes - but John's family also has brown hair, brown eyes, with one sibling being a throw back to his paternal grandmother with red hair and hazel eyes. And there is black hair from my maternal side and brown eyes."

"My goodness," Julie shrugged. "Shannon was right – you are a doctor."

"Yes, yes I am," Emily smiled.

"Well, I best get this trouble maker back to Shannon's. He'll be getting sick to his stomach soon and I'm sure you don't want that."

"I would appreciate it," Emily said wryly.

After Julie left, Emily remembered that John had written the number to his family's home in Manhattan on her emergency number board. Picking her phone back up, Emily called that number, frowning when it went to voice mail. After a call to the Island was picked up by Kyrano, who told Emily the remaining family members were "out for a few hours", Emily hung back up without explaining why she had called. Opening her desk drawer, Emily located the key for the small plane she kept at the airport. Usually used only for her humanitarian work around New Zealand, Emily was glad it was something she had purchased personally as she had also been using it for trips to Tracy Island over the summer.

It was time for a trip to the Island.

* * *

Sarah Woodbury – Woody to her friends and colleagues back in Boston – was fighting a variety of emotions at the moment. Terror. Yeah, terror was high on her list. She had been running into burning buildings to pulls injured people out for over a year now. Woody had jumped into rain swollen rivers with nothing but a harness and a rope keeping her from going under. She had crawled through tunnels filled with insects and climbed to heights guaranteed to make you dizzy in order to rescue victims. But she had always had the good sense to stay away from lunatics with loaded guns.

Until today.

Woody had to admit she had been slightly stunned when they had been told that they were to meet the lead FBI agent at the Tracy Towers. In the month she had been training here in New York City, Sarah had repeatedly allowed herself to wander over to the building, hoping for a glance of any member of the Tracy Family. Having grown up just down the road from them back in Kansas, she had missed them terribly in the years since the fire that had destroyed her home, killed her family and nearly killed Sarah. By the time she had fully recovered, the Tracys were long gone from Kansas and Sarah was firmly established in Boston with her aunt.

But Aunt Harriet had died six months ago and Sarah was once more without family. In being this close to some link to people that had been such a big part of her life made Woody long for what she had once had. Realistically, she knew all she would have to do is send a message – but, no. Sarah wasn't even sure how well they would remember her.

A trickle of disappointment had followed Sarah as she and Tony crossed the usually busy city street, the usual daytime traffic having been replaced by a flood of emergency vehicles. She had been hoping to at least see Jeff when they were at the Towers, but Woody guessed it just wasn't meant to be.

"OK, Boston," Tony said, interrupting Sarah's musings. "Daria says that among the hostages is a teenager. The gunmen are going to be holding the kid with a gun to his head to make sure no funny business from us. So be careful and explain everything you are doing."

As they approached the doors, the pair paused until a door slowly opened. A man in a black ski mask held the door slightly open and motioned the paramedics to enter.

Entering the bank lobby, which seemed darker than it should until Woody realized that all the drapes were drawn shut, tight against any natural light, she frowned and began to move to the still form in the middle floor before the gunman who had let them in grab her roughly by the arm.

"Unless you can bring the dead back to life, he ain't your patient," Kevin growled.

"Leave her alone," Tony snarled in response, pulling Woody away and standing between the two.

"That's enough," a new voice snapped, drawing the attention of the two paramedics.

In normal circumstances, Sarah would have been appalled at the sight of a mask person holding a gun to the head of an innocent teenager. But appalled was too mild a word as she recognized those bright blue eyes. She had always suspected that Alan Tracy would grow to be a male version of his late mother. John had strongly resembled Lucy Tracy but there was no doubt in Sarah's mind that this was the fifteen year old version of the boy she had once rocked to sleep back in Kansas.

"Alan," Sarah whispered, so softly that only Tony heard her. While he looked at her in surprise, he said nothing, instead leading her over to the leader.

"OK," Tony asked, "where is our patient?"

"Back there," Sherri motioned with her head. "Go in there, treat her wound and get going. No funny stuff or the kid gets hurt, got it?"

"Got it," Tony agreed.

Moving gingerly past the woman and her hostage, the paramedics caught sight of the victim and knelt down. It was time to prove their worth…

* * *

Sensing Jeff Tracy watching her, Daria looked up from the information she was running through the computer. "Yes, Mr. Tracy?" she asked politely.

"Guess I'm just curious," Jeff said. "How did an FBI agent hook up with a firefighter?"

Daria smiled softly. "The usual way, I suppose. How did you meet your wife, if I can ask?"

Jeff smiled as well, recalling his late wife. "Lucy backed into me in a mall parking lot. I was driving my first new car. At first I wondered if it was some ploy. I was with the space program at the time and one of the few bachelors with the program. I was considered fair game."

Chuckling, Daria shook her head. "Well, Tony and I weren't as dramatic."

Agent Sanders scoffed and was about to walk away when both Jeff and Daria turned to look at him. Shrugging he muttered, "C'mon. Not as dramatic?" Looking at Jeff and Ann-Marie, who had moved up behind him, he grinned.

"Daria had just left the BAU. You were with them, what? Five months?" Daria nodded so Sanders continued. "That last serial killer really had bothered you."

"Bothered me?" Daria glowered. "The son of a -" She took a deep breath. "The unsub shot me! I needed a change, OK?"

"Anyhow," Sanders continued dramatically. "She lands in New York, right in the middle of an arson investigation. The deputy director makes her acting SAC – that's special agent in charge – under the guise of needing "fresh eyes". Some people were not happy."

"Putting it mildly," Daria muttered.

"So Daria brings in some firefighters as a resource. One happens to be a paramedic named Tony Delgado."

"Tony recognized the profile I put together of the arsonist," Daria explained. "The idiot tried to confront the guy himself."

Most people would think Daria was annoyed, but there was enough fondness in her words to soften them. Sanders grinned and continued. "So – to make a long story short -"

"Too late," Daria muttered.

"Daria saves the paramedic, busts the bad guy – a dispatcher who had been repeatedly turned down by the fire department – and ensures her position here in New York. To make a good story a great one, they eloped less than a month later."

"Something Tony's mother and three sisters have yet to forgive me for," Daria groaned.

"In-law problems?" Ann-Marie grinned.

"No, my in-laws like me fine," Daria shrugged. "They just felt I should have put my foot down so they could plan a huge Italian wedding. My sister did the big event. I don't do big events. And how many people can say they were married on a beach in Cancun?"

"No one in Tony's family?" Sanders joked.

"All I can say is thank God it was by a priest or…" Daria's voice trailed off when her computer beeped. "Yes!" she crowed in triumph. Turning to her fellow agent, Daria scribbled down something onto a piece of paper.

"Sanders, we've confirmed the ID of the person who drove off in the car. They are at this address and it's only seven blocks from here. NYPD is watching him and will make sure he doesn't leave. Get over there and bring him back here. Let's see what he knows."

The FBI agent watched as her teammate left with another agent. It was time she got some answers.

* * *

Virgil had just finished checking Scott's vitals once more when Gordon's voice came over his headset.

"OP Three," Gordon called back. "We're over the drop zone. Can you leave OP One for a few minutes or do I need to put this baby in park?"

Before he could answer, Virgil heard the slightly cranky voice of his oldest brother. "I'll be fine. Get everyone unloaded so we can head for home."

Even as Virgil gave a now-awake Scott one last check, he called back to Gordon. "OP Four, OP One is now conscious. Since he _**will **_be staying in bed until I get back up, I'll run the rescued down to the ground. Keep my 'bird steady, will you?"

"Forget that," Scott argued. He tried to sit up only to drop heavily back against the pillow. "OK. I'll stay put, but OP Four comes back here. The winds won't be as bad over land and if you take the first load of rescued down and send the platform back up, OP Four can come down with the rest. Sooner we're done, sooner we're home."

As Virgil began to unload the passengers into a parking lot behind Mercy General Hospital in Auckland, the middle Tracy brother found himself looking cautiously at the approaching rescue personnel. This was the same hospital Emily worked at and John's girlfriend was extremely observant.

Handing over the first half of the cruise line passengers to awaiting hospital personnel, Virgil absently noticed Gordon was almost back down with the rest when a middle-aged man in a white coat approached him.

"Dr. Marcus Brady, Chief of Staff," he introduced himself. "I just wanted to say thanks. The work you people do is amazing."

"Thank you," Virgil said. "There aren't a lot of real injuries. Mainly just nerves, but they should all still be check over before being sent on their way. Um, are these your trauma team people?"

Dr. Brady looked puzzled. "No, your man called ahead said that there were no serious injuries so we didn't activate the trauma team. And I'm glad I didn't have to. Our Emergency Medicine Specialist is off for the weekend. Dr. Haas deserved some down time."

"Why?" Dr. Sommers grumbled as he helped a grandfatherly looking man into a wheelchair. "Did the princess break a nail?"

"Richard," Dr. Brady said calmly. "Keep it up and Emily will break your nose as she has promised a few times. And you know her rule – if she breaks it, she won't fix it."

Virgil had felt the urge to defend his brother's girlfriend in John's absence, but based on what he had just heard, the delicate looking blonde could obviously take care of herself. Gordon's snort of amusement made it clear that he had heard the exchange between the two doctors – and he agreed. Virgil had heard that Gordon had pranked Emily once – and only the one time, swearing to never anger the young woman again.

This also explained Gordon's black eye of a few weeks ago.

Catching Gordon's now-healed eye, Virgil exchanged a look of relief behind their visors. They knew their brother was serious about Emily and felt it was important that when the young doctor learned about "the family business", that it come directly from John.

Reaching out a helping hand, Virgil gentle guided the last two people – Jean and Alison – out of the rescue platform. When Alison stumbled slightly, Jean laughed even as she helped her friend into a wheelchair. Ignoring the glare the redhead shot at her, Jean still laughed.

"You so know that when Tren hears about this, she will be laughing her head off," Jean snickered.

"I'm injured when our ship is sinking and you're laughing," Alison glowered.

"You got injured getting _onto _the rescue platform," Jean laughed.

Gordon coughed, trying not to laugh, which made Jean laugh even harder as she pushed her friend's wheelchair away from the rescue platform. Smiling himself, Virgil joined his brother on the platform and closed the door before the timed device began to return to Thunderbird Two. But both brothers lost it when they heard Alison's voice once more.

"OK, you're right. All of the Thunderbirds had great tushes."

Laughing, the brothers headed back into the big green Thunderbird with relief. It was time to go home.

* * *

John Tracy felt sick to his stomach, watching yet another lunatic threatening his baby brother. The kid really didn't do anything to deserve it and yet it was as if someone had it out for him.

A young woman, with a bright auburn hair cut in a neat bob, pulled back from her face in neat pins bent down in front of Casey while the male paramedic, who was darker – Mediterranean heritage? – began setting up equipment on the other side. When the man pulled out a radio, one of the gunmen freaked.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Kevin screamed.

Woody got pissed. Nudging aside the gun that the gunman was waving near her head, she jumped back up. "Listen, dumbass – we're paramedics, not doctors. We can't treat a patient without working with a doctor. It's standard procedure. And wave that gun near me one more time and you'll need a proctologist to get it back."

Mac snorted before leaning over and explaining to his friend what the paramedic had meant. When Kevin was about to threaten Woody again, Mac shook his head.

"I wouldn't, man," Mac said calmly. "I think she means it."

Glaring at both men, Woody returned to her position next to Casey and began to cut the other woman's slacks in see the wound better.

"Damn," Casey muttered. "These are new slacks, too."

"Well," Woody joked, "the blood and bullet hole motif are so last season."

John wasn't saying anything, having replaced Alan at supporting Casey while the paramedics treated her. Occasional calls to the New York Methodist Hospital were ignored by the older Tracy brother and he gave no regard at all to the two paramedics. All of John's focus was on Alan. The leader stood behind Alan, with a firm arm around the teenager's shoulders and chest. With the muzzle of her gun tucked under Alan's jaw, not far from his left ear, there was no chance to jump her and protect Alan. His baby brother would be dead before John could get in striking distance.

Mac had shooed Kevin away, telling him to double check all the offices, not because the other man was actually worried about being interrupted. No, he just didn't want Kevin to do anything stupid.

Make that do anything else stupid.

"Hey, look what I found," Kevin cheerfully called out as he returned. Pushing a small cart, everyone could see a fifteen inch flat screen television, with a satellite ready DVR attached.

"What?" snapped Casey, clearly exhausted by everything she had gone through. "You missing Judge Judy? I'm sure New York can find you a reasonable likeness in its judicial pool."

"Not a bad idea," Mac said reasonably, ignoring Casey's outburst. "This is probably major news locally. We can see what is going on out there."

Sherri nodded and Kevin plugged in the television. While Kevin and the hostages watched in fascination, the group surrounding Casey, including Marie, Mac and John, listened when Tony addressed Sherri.

"We've done everything we can. But we are not doctors. The bullet is lodged closely to the femoral artery. One slip and she bleeds out in minutes."

"I don't want to lose a hostage."

"Listen," John said reasonably. "Everyone is getting hungry. Why not exchange Casey for some food?"

"Actually," Woody said, "releasing an injured hostage is just a show of good faith. Releasing an uninjured one would be an actual trade."

"You think we should release both the girl and someone else?" Mac asked, intrigued.

"Why not? Um, make it the kid," Woody said calmly as she adjusted the pressure bandage on Casey's thigh.

"I'm not leaving John," Alan snapped before John spoke up.

"Alan – if you get the chance, I want you out of here." Alan looked like he wanted to argue when John started to imitate his only older brother. "That's an order, Alan."

Biting his lip, Alan nodded as well as he could. Their father had made it clear when each son joined International Rescue – in the field, you followed orders. With neither Dad nor Scott present, John was the ranking member.

"Fine," Sherri agreed, tossing John's phone at him. "But you don't tell them who is being released. And," she continued, glaring at the medics. "Tell them one of them is staying. The food is for the wounded chick. I'll exchange one of the civilians for a paramedic. Just in case."

"I'll stay," Woody said quickly.

"Woodbury!" Tony snapped. "I'm the senior member -"

"Woodbury?" John interrupted. "Sarah Jane?" he asked, his eyes wide.

The redhead smiled gently. "Hey, Johnny – long time since Bailey, huh?" Glancing over at Alan, her smile became even warmer.

"Hey, baby."

"Sarah Jane?" Alan asked, his eyes filling with hope at the realization this was the girl he had considered a big sister growing up in Kansas.

"It's a long story, baby. I'll tell you everything some other time, OK?"

Sherri looked at the group with even greater suspicion, but for now she could think of no reason than to go along with the request. But the first hint of something funny and she would be demanding some answers this time.

* * *

Scott leaned heavily on Virgil as they came through the lift from the Thunderbird Two' silo, Gordon following closely behind. The room was still spinning slightly but he refused to use a wheelchair. The oldest Tracy son knew he was destined for a bed down in the infirmary, but he would get there under his own steam, damn it!

Suddenly, Virgil came to a full stop, Gordon slamming into him and causing Scott to shift so suddenly the oldest brother almost became ill. But before Scott could ask Virgil what was wrong with him, a new voice jerked Scott back to full attention.

"I'm sure you have a wonderful explanation why this room looks so different than every other time I have been here," a furious Emily Haas snapped out. The midnight blue eyes, usually alight with warmth and compassion had taken on the fury of an arctic sea. Stepping forward, the petite woman poked Scott in the chest.

"OK, what game are you people playing. Jeff Tracy's home office a futuristic command post? The mural of the family now portraits of the Thunderbirds, and those portraits double as secret passage ways? What in the name of Heaven and Earth is going on here? I want some answers and I want them now!"

_"Crap," _Scott thought. It was time to pay the piper.

* * *

_**A/N - OK. Out of the frying pan into the fire, as they say?**_

_**Alan - Ya think?**_

_**CC - Hey, Alan. Listen - you have no major injuries -**_

_**Alan (mutters darkly) Yet.**_

_**CC - John is OK -**_

_**Alan - Until Emily gets a hold of him.**_

_**CC - Scott is going to be alright.**_

_**Alan - You gave him a concussion.**_

_**CC - I had to stop him from coming after you! Even Mother Hen Tracy wouldn't try and fly with a concussion.**_

_**Alan - OK, I will give you that one - hey, where is Scott?**_

_**CC (settles on the couch) - Jean wanted equal time with Scott and since Kate isn't in the story yet, I locked her in the closet with Scott.**_

_**Alan - I thought Sam1 was locked in the closet with John.**_

_**CC - Different closet.**_

_**Alan - Ah. So - munchies of the week?**_

_**CC - Lime and salt popcorn. You're too young for margaritas. Have some sweet tea instead.**_

_**Alan - So why don't you ever get locked in a closet.**_

_**CC (Pft!) My hubby is blind to twenty years of damage and still sees the girl he fell in love with. And he still has the hormones of a twenty year old. Who needs made up perversions when you got it at home?**_

_**Alan - So...Do I ever, well...**_

_**CC - Alan, you are my daughter's age, almost, in this. So you get this.**_

_**Alan - A ring?**_

_**CC - Purity ring. Maybe I should get one for Tin as well. Will make it seem like the pair of you made responsible choices instead of me not being able to deal with my daughter EVER thiking of a boy like that. Well, maybe when she's thirty.**_

_**Alan - You've been hanging around my dad too much.**_

_**Jeff (sitting between the pair) - I prefer to think of my wisdom and parenting skills have just rubbed off on her.**_

_**CC (tosses piece of popcorn up and catches it in her mouth) - That works. (When the pair shrugs, she grins.) Well, I can't do that in real life, so I may as well do it here.**_

_**Jeff - Catch popcorn in your mouth or make sense?**_

_**CC - Both.**_

_**Alan (sighs) - I am so doomed.**_

_**CC - Maybe. But you'll live. More popcorn?**_

_**Alan (leaning against his father, he stage whispers) - She's psycho Dad, but she is a good cook.**_

_**CC (grins) - Yep. And that's why ya love me. Or is that why my husband loves me? Oh, well. I'm loved. Eat up boys and I'll make some cookies.**_

_**Jeff - Chocolate chips?**_

_**CC - Sure. And Alan? I'll make sure no walnuts, OK? (Alan glares and CC laughs.) See? Be nice to me, OK? Later folks!**_


	15. Chapter 15

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - Do not own the Thunderbirds. If I did...Well, I wouldn't post on a web site that removed an awesome story like the one I was following over at Harry Potter. Actually, they terminated the author's account. I just hope the author finds a way around that or else they set up elsewhere. It's frustrating. With so many stories poorly written or nothing more than PWP, what gives with the randomness of some of this?**_

_**Oh, and I didn't get to everyone's reviews. So sorry. Especially as they make my day! But while I can read reviews at work, during lunch of course, I can not respond to them. And having been REAL busy this week with both jobs and family obligations (my baby - OK, so she is 13, soon to be 14, but still my baby - went to her first boy/girl dance last night), I had to choose - answer reviews or post this chapter. I hope you all agree with my decision.**_

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* * *

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Chapter 15

_Fifteen minutes earlier_

Emily Haas approached Tracy Island, sending out an automated signal and surprised when she received one in return. John had upgraded her communications system to blend with his family's security system. Scott had teased his next youngest brother that some men gave a girl the key to their apartment as a sign of his commitment; John had given Emily easy passage to the Island.

John had shrugged at the comment and smiled at Emily, letting her know that in his opinion, that was basically what he had done.

Taxiing into a hanger, Emily took the spot next to Tracy Two and hastily deplaned. Hurrying into the house, she smiled at Onaha in greeting.

"Miss Emily," the housekeeper warmly greeted the young doctor. "What are you doing here? John will not be back for another couple of days. Believe me," Onaha said conspiratorially, "my Tin-Tin has been moping enough for young Alan."

"That's part of my problem," Emily said. "And the reason I came here." At Onaha's curious glance, Emily shrugged.

"I can't reach John by his cell or his family's New York number," she explained.

Onaha frowned. "So why not just call here?"

Sighing, Emily sat down at the breakfast bar; snitching a cucumber slice that Onaha was slicing into a salad with a sigh. "Because John never gave me the number for here – and you try calling information and saying you want the number for Jeff Tracy? So not happening."

When Onaha just laughed, Emily shrugged again. "So, I had the weekend off and I thought I would swing over here and see if I could speak with one of John's brother." Emily was reluctant to mention her fears about the current bank robbery in New York; there was no reason for Onaha to be as terrified as she herself was.

"So where are Tin-Tin and Kyrano?" Emily asked politely as the housekeeper pulled out a pitcher of ice tea and a cake from the refrigerator.

"Tin-Tin is - in Mr. Tracy's office," Onaha said hesitantly. "Doing some, um, filing," she added, aware that John's girlfriend was not yet aware of the Tracys being International Rescue so not able to explain that Tin-Tin was working Command and Control.

"Kyrano had just returned from the monthly supply run," Onaha continued as she place a slice of cake in front of Emily. "I was supposed to help him but then you arrived -"

"Onaha, please," Emily interrupted. "Go to Kyrano. The faster you finish, the faster you two can both join me for some tea and oh, my," Emily sighed. "This carrot cake is wonderful."

"Thank you," Onaha smiled. "I rarely make it these days, because of young Alan."

"Alan doesn't like carrot cake?" Emily asked between bites.

"Severe allergy to walnuts," Onaha supplied.

"Oh, yes," Emily remembered, taking a sip of ice tea. "He had a bad reaction back in February, didn't he? It was in his medical records," she explained when Onaha looked confused.

"Yes," Onaha recalled sadly, remembering how terrified the family had been when Alan had collapsed, unable to breathe. Thankfully, Mr. Tracy insisted on a well-stocked infirmary and the epi-pen had saved the boy's life. Shaking herself, Onaha looked over at Emily and smiled.

"I will go help my husband and then we will both join you."

"Before you go," Emily said, "where are the rest of the Tracy boys?"

"They are – out," Onaha once more hesitated. "But they should be back soon." Or at least that was what Tin-Tin had said when Onaha had checked on her daughter a few minutes ago.

"OK," Emily agreed as she took another bite of the cake and almost moaned in satisfaction. If she were to marry John – oh, who was she kidding – when she married John, Emily would really have to add fifteen minutes to her morning workout, if only to counter Onaha's cooking.

Onaha had only been gone a few minutes when Emily, having finished the cake, decided to go check on Tin-Tin. The two of them could commiserate together on missing a Tracy son.

* * *

Tin-Tin Kyrano checked on the progress of Thunderbird Two. Seeing that it was landing and safe inside its silo, Tin-Tin looked longingly at her cell phone. The brothers would run a series of checks before returning to Command and she knew she had several minutes before anyone would enter. For security reasons, cell phones would not work in the office when Command and Control was up, so Tin-Tin slipped out and moved to the end of the hallway. She would only be a few minutes…

* * *

Jeff looked at his cell phone, now securely in the middle of the table at the command post that had been erected in the middle of the lobby. He knew from what Tin-Tin had told him that the boys were on a simple rescue but Jeff knew from experience how quickly a "cakewalk" could turn into an unholy mess.

Before hanging up with Tin-Tin, still running Command and Control, Jeff had considered telling her about what was happening but decided the teenager didn't need to know the danger Alan was in at the moment. He had known the girl for years and tended to be protective of her. It wouldn't do her any good to worry along with him and could only distract her from her work for International Rescue.

Ann Marie sat down next to her boss, giving him an encouraging smile. "You know the boys are going to be fine, right?"

Sighing slightly, Jeff closed his eyes before reaching for his long time employee/friend's hand. Clenching it in mutual support, he gave a weak nod. It was what she believed. It was what he wanted to believe. But a part of Jeff Tracy had to wonder: How many times would his beloved sons have to walk through the fire, before the flames consumed them forever?

* * *

Emily entered Jeff's office quietly, hoping to surprise Tin-Tin. The young doctor had gone half-way into the room before stopping in shock.

Slowly turning in a circle, Emily stared at the room, becoming dizzy before she realized that she had actually stopped breathing for a moment. Forcing herself to pull oxygen into her lungs, Emily began to walk around the room, stunned beyond belief at the high tech equipment and monitoring devices. But the thing that once more took her breath away was the wall that had been, ever other time she had been here, a beautiful mural of the family, enjoying life in their tropical paradise. Instead of the mural Virgil had painted as a house-warming gift for his father when they had moved here from Kansas years ago, separate portraits of the Tracys – all six of them, she was quick to note – were on the wall.

But not as anyone thought of the Tracys. No, these Tracys were dressed in uniforms, uniforms the usually quick-witted Emily Haas was slow to recognize. (Then again, the lack of oxygen could be causing problems with her thought processes.) With painful recognition, Emily realized that the Tracys were wearing the uniforms for International Rescue. Reaching out to John's portrait, she traced his beloved features with a shaking hand, as tears welled in her eyes.

"No," she whispered. "John is a scientist. An astronomer, an astronaut -"

Emily's hushed denial trailed off as she recalled the news from earlier that spring, when the terrorist known as the Hood had attacked the Thunderbirds. The trial of the villain and his cohorts had been held behind closed doors for the protection of the members of International Rescue but certain pieces of information had leaked out. Such as the fact that the Hood had lured most of the members of the team to their space station – she still had been amazed that they had their own space station – when he had launched a missile at the station, injuring the operative in charge.

Quickly, Emily's mind flashed to the first time she had seen John without a shirt.

_A few weeks after they had met, John had been enjoying a cup of coffee with Emily by the pool on the Island, his brothers goofing around in the pool. Jeff had come out with Alan, the youngest Tracy still a bit unsteady on his feet after his accident almost a month before. Trying to encourage the youngest brother to join them in the pool, Gordon had pulled John into the pool._

_Emily had leapt to her feet, quickly helping a laughing John out. Luckily, John had been wearing swim trunks already but his shirt was clinging to every inch of his body – a sight Emily hadn't minded at all. Pulling off the now soaked jersey, Emily sucked in her breath when she saw John's back._

"_John?" the young doctor asked, shocked at the traces of burn marks and scars on John's back and shoulder. "What happened to you?"_

"_Just a little accident at work," John said comfortingly as he pulled a towel around his shoulders. "Honestly, Emmy – it doesn't hurt anymore."_

"_A work accident? John, you're an astronomer," Emily argued in surprise._

"_John also does work for Tracy Enterprises, research and development," Scott said from the side of the pool. "Alan was even hurt a bit."_

_Recalling what she had seen in Alan's medical records – having done his follow-up at her friend Shana's request – Emily nodded. _

"_Oh," Emily breathed out. "Alright."_

_Looking around at the family, Emily wasn't sure if she completely believed them, but it did sound reasonable. _

"Reasonable?" Emily snarled. "He lied to me. They all did and -"

Emily's solo rant stopped as she finally focused on the other portrait of a blonde Tracy son. Alan? Alan was barely fifteen! What the hell was Jeff Tracy thinking? She silently swore if the Tracy Patriarch was in front of her at that moment, she would think of a thousand perfectly rational reasons for a colonoscopy.

At that ill-fated moment, one of the portraits – Jeff's as it so happened – opened and the three non-blonde Tracy sons stepped out, with Scott and Virgil in front, their strong resemblance to their father sparking Emily's ire to the boiling point.

Stalking forward, Emily confronted the Tracys. Poking Scott in the chest, the young woman snarled, "OK, what game are you people playing. Jeff Tracy's home office a futuristic command post? The mural of the family now portraits of the Thunderbirds, and those portraits double as secret passage ways? What in the name of Heaven and Earth is going on here? I want some answers and I want them now!"

* * *

Sherri had John call once more, setting the phone onto one of the cases the paramedics had brought into the bank with them.

"_John?"_

"Dad," John breathed out, the comfort of his father's voice always soothing to each of the sons when distressed.

"_Are you and Alan alright? How's Casey?"_

"Sir, this is Lieutenant Delgado of the New York City Fire Department. Is the FBI agent in charge there?"

"_I'm here."_

Tony breathed a small sigh of relief, glad that Daria had picked up on the fact that he was trying to avoid the gunmen from discovering that he had any ties to the lead agent.

"The victim was shot in her right thigh. Unfortunately, the bullet is dangerously close to the femoral artery. There is a risk of it moving and should that happen the victim would bleed out within five to seven minutes."

"My name is Casey," the young woman muttered, earning her a grin from Woody.

"_**Casey**__," _Tony stressed, "is going to be released."

"_Under what conditions?"_

_That's my girl, _Tony thought. **Nothing** got past his Daria.

Motioning to John with her gun, Sherri hissed, "Tell them."

"They said they will release Casey if one of the paramedics stays." Hearing the agent begin to protest, Woody spoke up.

"I've already volunteered Agent," the redhead stated firmly. "But they also will release another hostage in exchange for some food."

"_Any particular hostage?"_

"They haven't decided yet," John said quietly when Sherri shook her head again. "Dad – I'll take care of Alan. I promise."

"_I know you will, John," _Jeff's voice came over. _"Just remember – I want you both home for dinner." _

"We'll do our best, Dad," John said softly just before Sherri snapped up the phone again, cutting off the connection.

"OK," Woody spoke up in the silence. "How do we get her out of here without jarring the leg too much?"

Looking over at Alan, Tony nodded.

"As long as he – or whoever you choose -" Tony added when Sherri glared at him, "can open the doors and such as I leave here, maybe even hold the leg still a bit, we should be alright with me carrying the victim."

Woody nodded. It wasn't the best solution but they hadn't dared bring a stretcher in, figuring that the gunmen could see that as an assumption that they wanted to remove the victim. Tony would also have to leave most of the equipment behind, but in the long run it might just be a good thing.

As the logistics were discussed over how to best get Casey out, only Kevin was paying any attention to the television anymore, so no one really noticed when the news anchor spoke.

"_And in the hostage situation at the Metro Union Bank in the financial district, across from Tracy Towers, Ana Nevada will be up shortly with an exclusive update. Why the location may be more significant with the hostages than was previously known. That story after this word from our sponsors."_

* * *

Emily was still glaring at the Tracy Brothers when Tin-Tin came running back in, drawn by Emily's raised voice.

"I – I'm so sorry," the teenager cried. "I just left for a moment."

"Tin-Tin," Gordon gently admonished as he walked her to the door. "You know the rules. The person running command and control doesn't leave until the last man out comes back." Giving the girl they saw as a little sister a quick one-armed hug, he encouraged her to go find her mother.

Remembering to call out that Onaha was helping Kyrano with the supplies, Emily refocused on the brothers. "Well," she snapped. "Do I get an answer or not?"

"Emily," Virgil said firmly. "John was going to tell you and soon. But he needed the right moment."

"Which," Scott said absently. "This is not."

The young doctor was about to speak when she noticed the bandage on Scott's head. "My God, what happened to you?"

"Strong winds, snapped off piece of equipment," Scott drawled. "It missed my head but then my head didn't miss the railing of the rescue platform."

Coming up on his other side, Emily put an arm around Scott's waist. "Come on, let's get you fixed up properly. It doesn't feel right wanting to rip off your head before I make sure it wouldn't come off on its own."

Gordon led the way to the infirmary, Virgil and Scott maintaining their silence in deference to Emily's ire. A wise soul would have joined his brothers in keeping quiet. Emily could be frighteningly like the late Lucy Tracy – slow to anger but as fierce as a tsunami when her temper was pushed to the brink.

Then again, none of his brothers would have ever said Gordon and common sense had more than a passing acquaintance.

"So," Gordon's cheerfully spoke up. "I bet this surprised you."

"You think?" Emily snapped, her mind still trying deciding if she would rather slap John Tracy at the moment or be kissing him senseless. Both options had their merits.

"How does it feel to know you are sleeping with a Thunderbird?" Gordon joked.

Scott and Virgil both winced, as a variety of emotions running through their minds – embarrassment high among them. And, after all, who knew if John and Emily were actually intimate yet?

As she helped guide Scott into the infirmary, making sure Virgil had his brother on an exam bed before turning to get some equipment, Emily absently responded, "Oh, we don't sleep much."

"Did you need to know that?" Scott muttered as a wave of vertigo made him regret everything he had eaten for the last two weeks.

"Never," Virgil said firmly as he eased Scott back onto the bed, motioning to Gordon to remove their brother's boots. "And, just for your information I never want to know stuff like that for ANY of you, got it?"

"Now," Emily said firmly as she began to examine Scott's head injury, "who here has a single good explanation for me?"

"Emily," Scott responded, "you know what happened to our mother -"

"Not that," Emily snapped. "I figured all that out. Your mother died in a senseless accident, your father had the money and the resources and the entire family had the motivation to try and stop such a tragedy from happening to others. That is reasonable. John not telling me when he has all but proposed? That will be between the two of us. However," she said reasonably with a saucy grin, "I will be ready to accept his abject apology and let him make me feel better."

Virgil rolled his eyes, Scott groaned and Gordon grinned as they pictured – unfortunately for two of them – just how Emily expected John to apologize.

"What I want to know is what numb-nuts would think a barely fifteen year old boy should be wearing a Thunderbird uniform? And don't think I figured out that an also barely fifteen year old girl was working the communications end? So Tin-Tin is also part of your happy little campers, right?"

Picking up a scanner, Emily began to examine Scott's ribs, making sure that his head injury was the only real concern. "And just out of curiosity, where have the Hackenbackers _really _been for most of the summer? By the by – first person to claim on vacation, I have needles and I know how to use them."

Gordon mumbled into his shirt but Emily was used to having to listen to people in trauma situations. With wide eyes, she stopped her exam of Scott's abdomen to turn and look at the red-headed Tracy.

"Thunderbird Five? Um, if I recall what happened with the Hood," Emily gasped, not noticing how Scott and Virgil flinched at the name, "that was the name of the space station he attacked. The one the Thunderbirds almost died on. And, if I am not mistaken, how John _really _got hurt, am I right?"

When Gordon reluctantly nodded, Emily snapped. "And is that how Alan got hurt as well? You brought a child into space?"

"No," Scott said coldly. "Alan was here, on the island. That son of a bitch invaded our home, trapped us in space and then stalked our little brother. He tried to kill Alan multiple times, the final time in front of our father in the Bank of London. Dad still has nightmares about that."

"We all had nightmares for a while," Virgil said sadly as Emily turned back to the bed and continued to examine Scott.

"The nightmares had finally faded when Alan was hurt again. He could have died," Gordon softly added as came closer to the bed.

"I've read his medical reports," Emily said softly. "But really, how can -"

"Emily," Scott bit out, "Alan wasn't wearing the uniform when the Hood tried to kill him, he wasn't on a mission when he was run down by a drunk driver. Life is dangerous. At least we can look out for him."

"He knows the machines," Gordon grinned. "And he has great instincts."

"Kid has the heart of a hero," Virgil smiled as he pushed Scott back into the pillow again. "At least this way we can keep an eye on him so he keeps his daredevil instincts in check."

"Talk to John, Dad and Alan," Scott muttered. "Before you condemn us, you will see – we're Tracys, virtually indestructible."

"However, if there is a way for the world to go FUBAR," Gordon winked, "a Tracy will probably be nearby."

Covering Scott with a blanket – and getting him to stay put with a glare his brothers coveted from the moment they saw it – Emily drew a deep breath in as she remembered the reason she came to the Island in the first place.

"Guys, I was wondering if you had heard from John or your father today?"

"A quick text earlier," Virgil said. "Nothing since then but they did plan on just having some fun today. Why?"

"I can't reach John and there is no answer at the New York number. I know I am being irrational – or I hope I am," Emily explained, "but there is a bank robbery going on not far from Tracy Towers. And it is the same bank – at least a branch of the same bank – that John's debit card is on. The robbery devolved into a hostage situation. And I can't get a hold of John."

When the brothers remained silent, Emily gave a weak laugh. "Come on – this is where you tell me I am being irrational."

Scott looked at his brothers before Gordon nodded.

"If Tin hasn't brought down Command and Control, I will. Then I'll call Dad. Virgil, you need to stay here with Scott no matter what we find out."

Glaring at Scott, Emily nodded. "If John is in that bank, I don't need to be worrying about you collapsing. You will stay here with Virgil. Gordon and I can head to New York."

"Emily," Scott snapped before his features softened. Emily was strong, beautiful and absolutely perfect for John.

"Take Tracy Two. It's faster than your plane and as long as it's fully fueled before you leave, you won't have to stop. You'll make it to Manhattan in one go." Smiling at her, Scott took Emily's hand in his and squeezed.

"Go take care of my little brothers for me, will you?"

With a smile, Emily squeezed back. "I'll take care of our family, OK?"

After Emily and Gordon had left the infirmary, Scott smiled at Virgil.

"She's gonna make a great Tracy, won't she?"

* * *

Mac was arguing with Sherri, as Kevin focused on the news.

"I'll tell you, Sher," he argued. "Let the kid go and the good will is gonna go a long way to getting us out of here alive."

"Yeah, but the presence of a kid is going to make the cops more hesitant about coming in here with guns blazing. Killing a hostage? Bad. Killing a kid who is also a hostage? Career killer," Sherri shot back.

Just then Kevin nudged Mac. "Hey, there is that hot babe, Ana Nevada. She's supposed to be doing a story about us."

The whole bank froze when the reporter started to speak.

"_This is Ana Nevada for American Cable News. As I stand in the shadows of Tracy Towers, the iconic building in Manhattan's landscape has been emptied of most of its employees. Instead of Tracy Employees the lobby is now occupied by members of the NYPD and FBI, who have turned the ground floor into a command post as the hostage situation at the Metro Union Bank, located kitty-corner to the building, drags on."_

"_Now while many days, no members of the Tracy family are here, apparently, Manhattan is currently playing host to no less than three Tracys. Jeff Tracy is in town, having brought along his sons, John and Alan. John, an author, was speaking at a science fiction convention yesterday, but it is unknown why the youngest Tracy son is here. Perhaps the boy was being examined by specialists as he recovers from the accident that nearly claimed his life earlier this year?"_

"_But whatever the reason, apparently, the two brothers were in the bank at the time of the attempted robbery and, my sources within law enforcement have confirmed, are among the hostages. John, as seen in this file footage, is Jefferson Tracy's second son. Unfortunately, we have no images of the younger brother, as the Tracys are fanatical in protecting the boy and assuring his privacy. Sadly, it appears that all of their efforts to protect the youngster have been for nothing as his life is one more at risk."_

"_I'll continue to follow the story and keep our viewers in the know. For American Cable News, this is Ana Nevada."_

Sherri turned to the brothers with a glare. Walking over to where Alan was sitting between John and Woody, she nudged the teenager's shoulder with her gun.

"Alan Tracy, I presume?" Smirking when Alan glared up at her, she focused on John for a moment before turning away.

"Jeff Tracy's sons? No way in hell they are going anywhere. If the FBI won't get us the money, maybe that fat-cat will." Glaring at the brothers, she gave a small nod.

"I'm going to get my money. And if I don't, there will be two less Tracys in the world."

* * *

_**A/N - So now they know who Alan and John are. And, sadly, it does not make things better for the boys. And I promise - I WILL answer reviews this time. - CC**_


	16. Chapter 16

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - If you saw my bank account, you would KNOW I don't own the Thunderbirds.**_

_**See? I was better this week about the reviews, right?**_

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

Scott remained on the bed, remaining silent while Virgil went over his vitals once more.

"Do you think Emily is right?" Scott blurted out in the silence.

Virgil gave a humorless chuckle.

"Like Gordo said – if something can go wrong, we would probably be in the middle of it. Especially Alan," Virgil muttered.

"Kid is chaos in theory, isn't he?" Scott grinned.

"You don't have to sound so proud of that," Virgil groaned.

Scott just smiled. He was worried sick as he knew Emily wasn't one to get upset over nothing and he trusted her instincts. But Scott knew he had to also have faith in his brothers. Many people would see John and Alan as "easy targets", or, as he had heard it once – the most vulnerable members of the Tracy Family. Scott knew better. Alan and John may not have been a football player like Virg or been in the military like the rest of the family, but the two blonde brothers were quick witted, highly intelligent and relentless in defending their own sandbox. In addition, Scott was comforted by the fact that John had proved he could protect Alan as well as Scott could – not that Scott would ever admit that fact.

No, the one thing that really worried Scott was how far would Alan go to protect John? He could only hope the kid really had to learn to think things through.

* * *

"You know, we are probably overreacting," Emily said nervously as they entered Jeff's office.

Gordon patted a departing Tin-Tin, nodding his approval when he saw that everything had been returned to normal. He waited until his youngest brother's girlfriend had left the room before addressing his other brother's girlfriend.

"Emily we can't say that for sure. If there is one thing our family has learned over the years, it is trust your instincts."

Sitting down behind his father's desk, Gordon tried the penthouse before calling Jeff's office. When neither one yielded anything more than an automated message, Gordon started calling cell phones. John's went unanswered and Gordon was about to call Alan's when he realized that Alan had changed numbers a few months earlier and he couldn't recall it. Gordon had programmed it into his own cell, but – With a sigh, Gordon decided to call their father directly.

* * *

Jeff looked morosely at the phone sitting on the table in front of him, silently willing it to ring. Even knowing that his boys were at risk was made better when he could hear their voices – when he knew they were alive.

Still, when the phone rang, Jeff found himself jumping.

"Sorry," he muttered when his sudden movement startled the others at the command post. Drawing in a deep breath to make sure his hand wouldn't be shaking, Jeff pressed the button.

"_Dad?" _Gordon's voice rang out. Puzzlement was in his voice when he added, _"Where's the visual?"_

"Sorry, Gordon," Jeff said calmly. "I was, well, it wouldn't have worked for me to have the visual on."

Seeing Daria's gesture, Jeff picked up the phone. "Gordon, I'm transferring you to another phone." Looking at a number Ann-Marie slipped in front of him, Jeff set back down the phone and moved over to the security desk. In a swift movement, he answered the transferred call even as he pulled up a chair.

"Dad?" Gordon breathed out, relief obvious in his voice. "Where are John and Alan?"

"Gordon," Jeff sighed. He had been prepared when he had called the Island earlier. But now all of his well-rehearsed words about the situation were gone.

"Mr. Tracy," Emily added, leaning in so she was now visible next to Gordon.

"Emily, what are you doing there? I mean," Jeff hastily added, "not that you aren't always welcome, you know that. It's just -"

Interrupting, Emily spoke the unthinkable words. "Are John and Alan involved in the hostage situation at that bank?"

Startled, Jeff stared at his son's girlfriend. "How did you know?"

Sighing, Emily let Gordon help her into the seat since her shaking legs would no longer hold her up. "I don't know. I heard about it on the satellite news and – well, I just knew."

"We'll warm up Tracy Two and be there as soon as we can, Dad," Gordon said.

"Just tell Scott to be careful," Jeff said before catching the look the two exchanged.

Banging his head lightly against the desk, Jeff muttered, "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not," Gordon said hastily. "So we'll see you in about ninety minutes -"

"Gordon Cooper Tracy," Jeff carefully enunciated. "Spill it now."

As Gordon's mouth moved but no sound emerged, Emily showed the kind of flexibility that had always made her so valuable in the ER. Aware that Jeff had an audience, the young physician chose her words carefully.

"Mr. Tracy, I arrived on the Island about the same time as the boys returned from handling some business. It seems there was a slight accident. Scott fell and bumped his head on a railing. Now, I have given him a full exam and there is no lasting damage. The best advice I can give is for Scott to rest. Virgil is the most qualified to stay with him and if at any point there are complications, Virgil will have the Kyranos help get Scott to the mainland. They can use my plane – as you have Tracy One and we'll be in Tracy Two, it is faster than the one plane left in the hanger."

Jeff nodded, happy to see Emily seemed to have the situation under control before a thought struck him.

"Um, Emily – how long did you say you were there?"

"Long enough, sir," Emily said coolly. "If John gets out before I get there, tell him - never mind, I have a few things he and I need to discuss."

Trying to hide a smile, Jeff almost felt sorry for his second son. There were times Emily really reminded Jeff of his late wife. Thinking of the love of his life, Jeff pushed aside any sympathy. Remembering the times he had soothed Lucy's temper…Then again, one of those times had resulted in Alan. This, in hind sight, might explain a bit about his youngest son.

"We'll be there soon, Dad," Gordon said in the silence before turning off the vid-phone.

Rising, Jeff returned to the table, relieved that at least one of his sons would be joining him. Now if he could only get the two being held in the bank to join him –

Before Jeff could finish that thought, another FBI agent came towards the table at a jog.

"Agent Delgado," the unknown agent said quickly, catching Daria's attention. "Two things – One is that Agent Sanders said that they picked up the owner of the car and are bringing him over here."

"Why are they bringing him here?" Daria asked.

"He took a swing at Agent Sander."

"Big mistake," Daria snapped.

"Yes, Ma'am," the agent agreed, freezing when he saw Daria roll her eyes at the disliked "Ma'am". Sucking in his breath, he continued on from the "bad" news to the "worse".

"And you should know – the fact that Mr. Tracy's sons are in the bank has been leaked to the press."

"What!" Daria snapped. Slamming a fist onto the table she growled, "I want that footage here five minutes ago, got it?"

Rubbing her eyes as the agent bolted off to fulfill her request, Daria turned to Jeff who had gone pale at the news.

"Mr. Tracy – I'm sorry. We'll find out who is responsible. But you have to realize – this is going to make my job a hell of a lot harder."

"Mine too," Jeff said softly as he buried his face in his hands.

* * *

Scott was exhausted. Virgil was limited in what medications he could give Scott due to his concussion so the pain and nausea were extremely draining. All Scott could do was lie there and wait for the symptoms to fade and for his brother to be sure enough that the concussion was not more serious than they thought.

Virgil glanced across the room, smiling slightly at his dozing oldest brother. Usually, Scott would be pulling a Houdini so fast, his head would spin. Emily had really managed to make his brother toe the line. Thinking of his other older brother, Virgil's small smile became a full out grin.

Emily had both brothers toeing the line.

As if the thought of the tiny blonde dynamo had pulled her into the room, Emily scooted into the infirmary, breathless. She had clearly run all the way.

"Emily," Virgil asked as he stood. "What's wrong?"

Scott sighed. "One, two or three?"

When the other two people in the room turned to him in confusion, Scott rose slightly. "There are three family members in New York at the moment. How many are in the bank?"

"According to your father," Emily answered even as she came to stand next to Scott's bed, gently pushing him back down, "John and Alan are in the bank. I'll contact him while in-route to Manhattan. We'll get the details to you as we know them. Running the news sources, no mention has been made of your brothers being in the bank."

"And Jeff Tracy's sons being held hostage in a bank would be headline news," Virgil said bitterly. Placing his hands on Emily's shoulders, the middle Tracy son gently squeezed in a comforting gesture.

"Just go, Em," Scott said softly as he patted Emily's hand. "We all cover for each other in this family."

"I'm not family -"

Scott interrupted. "Yes, you are. You and John are going to get married. You'll be the mother of my future nephews."

"We could have a girl," Emily countered.

"There hasn't been a Tracy daughter born in over two hundred years," Virgil laughed.

Emily wanted to argue further when Gordon's voice came over the intercom.

"Emily – c'mon," he called out. "Kyrano luckily had refueled when he returned from the supply run. We can leave right away."

When Emily hesitated, Scott spoke up firmly. "Em – go. Call when – no, just have John and Alan call me when they have a moment."

As Emily nodded, heading out the door in a rush, Virgil looked at Scott before he picked up a scanner and began to run it over Scott.

"Virg?" the older brother questioned. "What is your problem?

With a disbelieving look, Virgil set down the device. "Letting someone else run point in a family crisis? Taking the view that no news is good news? I think you may have hit your head harder than I thought."

"Smart ass," Scott muttered as he curled into the pillow, trying to get the room to stop spinning. As Virgil moved away, Scott blinked back tears while he whispered a prayer.

"_Please mom, be with my brothers. I can't lose them. We can't lose them. We barely survived losing you."_

* * *

Alan watched as the paramedic – Delgado? – got ready to pick up Casey. While he was glad the young woman was leaving the bank, part of him wanted to be the little kid again and whine that he wanted to leave as well. But a bigger part of him was perversely relieved that the leader of the bank robbers had been given a reason not to release Alan. No matter what his family told him, there were moments that he still felt that he could best protect his family by being there. And judging by the bruise on John's face, Alan's older brother definitely needed some protecting.

Marie was crouched nearby, waiting to see if any help was needed.

"Casey?" Marie spoke softly. "How are you doing, hun?"

"Seriously, Marie?" Casey asked. "Today has – excuse my French – sucked. I had to change my blouse earlier because my little brother thought he was Harry Potter or Houdini – I'm not sure which – but he managed to get strawberry jam all over it. Don't ask how. Dunkin Donuts stopped making the Berry Berry coffee. I was supposed to be out of this branch last week but due to the firewall issues I found, they extended my time here so I get tossed into this party. Then some dumb ass shoots me and now I have to go deal with my father and Mr. Tracy. My Dad will be freaking that I got shot and I don't know how to tell Mr. Tracy that I didn't remember to secure the lock and Alan came out here."

"Um, Casey," Alan spoke up, a guilty look on his face. "You did lock the door."

"Alan," Casey corrected him, "that lock is a top-of –the-line, impossible to hack, electronic lock."

"It was challenging," Alan shrugged. "But nothing is impossible once you really try. Oh, and being a computer hacker helps."

"Not to mention Parker taught him to pick locks," John snickered.

"Lady Penelope's chauffer Parker?" Casey asked with wide eyes.

"Now chauffer," Alan grinned. "Formerly, top notch jewel thief."

Smiling, Casey shook her head. "Life is never dull with you guys around."

"We do our best," John grinned.

All of their smiles faded when Sherri stalked over, nearly knocking a silent Sarah over from where she had been organizing the equipment. Happily ignorant of the death glare the red-head was sending her way, Sherri used her gun to point at Marie.

"You," Sherri growled. "You'll be going out as soon as the food gets here. Open the door, grab the food boxes from the delivery man and set it down next to the door. Once it is down, hold open the door for hero-boy here and the gimp girl."

"People have names," Alan snapped before Sherri grabbed him by his hair and dragged him to his feet.

Sarah and John both leapt up in Alan's defense but Sherri's gun muzzle, shoved into Alan's throat, stopped them from acting.

"You are lucky you are worth more to me alive than dead. Then again, as long as Jeff Tracy doesn't know you are dead, I might still get my money."

"Sher," Mac said calmly as he approached the group. "They will probably want proof he's alive. Don't do anything rash."

Practically throwing Alan back down, Sherri glared at him. "I might be willing to just settle for money for your brother if you don't watch it kid."

"Anything happens to my brother," John said coldly, "and my family will track you to the gates of Hell, just so they can be the ones to push you in."

"Oooh," Sherri jeered as she kept an eye on Delgado as he lifted Casey, Sarah helping him before stepping back to join the Tracys. "I'm so scared."

"You should be," Sarah said calmly. "I grew up with the Tracys. Scott Tracy defended Alan from kidnappers when he was twelve with only a baseball bat."

"Too bad Jeannie Bates isn't here," John sighed. "She was even better with the bat than Scott."

"She's a deputy sheriff back in Bailey now," Sarah said. "Turns out, she was even better with a gun than a bat."

"Scott mentioned she had been a Marine," Alan nodded.

"This isn't Old Homes Day," Sherri growled before following Tony, Casey and Marie into the lobby.

"Either that woman has some major PMS or she is just a bit – a bit of a cranky person," Sarah hastily corrected her language in front of Alan.

"Frankly," Alan grumbled as he made himself comfortable between the relative comfort of John and Sarah, "I think she is just a bitch."

John and Sarah exchanged grins over Alan's head. Humor had always been a fallback for them as kids and they were both relieved Alan was still showing his. Now, to just get out of this alive.

* * *

Daria watched from the doorway, poised to dash forward when Tony emerged with the hostages from the bank.

As the delivery man – ok, the plainclothes narcotics cop, who so did not look like a member of law enforcement – approached the bank with a box of a variety of food items from a local deli, Daria had to admire the man's acting abilities. For all appearances, he looked like a stressed out minimum wage slave who was definitely considering a career change. Even as she considered approaching the cop to do what the Bureau called their "sales pitch", Daria froze when she saw the door open slightly.

A middle aged woman leaned out of the door and took the box from the cop. As the door slid shut again, Daria thumbed through the images they had from outside and the personnel files from Metro Union.

"Marie Shaheen," Daria muttered. "Employed by Metro Union for twenty seven years, was lead trainer for the mid-west region. Got demoted after some scandal with one of her children, who was apparently convicted in abstention for attempted vehicular manslaughter and DUI. Forget almost three decades of loyal service, image is everything to the bank."

Less than a minute later, Marie opened the front door once more, this time stepping out into the sunshine. Tony emerged from the bank, carrying Casey Patrick. Marie paused, as if reluctant to leave the bank when one of the gunmen stepped forward from the shadows of the bank lobby and gestured with their weapon. Giving a weak nod, Marie let the door go and began to quickly follow Tony.

At the half-way point in the street, the three were met by no less than four FBI agents and five NYPD uniformed officers. Out of respect for Casey's injury, they moved more cautiously than they usually would – but still moved quickly.

Entering the lobby of Tracy Towers, Carl Patrick cried out in relief, running towards his daughter as she was placed on one of the sofas strategically situated around the area.

"Dad," Casey grumbled. "I'm ok, really."

"Casey," Carl stressed. "You've been shot."

"Yeah, Dad," Casey groaned. "I was there. I figured that one out already." Patting her father's arm while Tony continued to treat her leg, she looked around for his boss.

"Mr. Tracy," she said quickly. "I'm so sorry we didn't get Alan out of there. I think they were going to when they saw the news cast about the boys being in the bank."

Jeff had been bitterly disappointed when the hostages had emerged and neither of his sons was among them. But he suspected correctly that Casey had been shot protecting Alan and he didn't want her to think it was her fault in any way.

"We'll get them out later, Casey," Jeff softly said. "You just worry about yourself for now."

Not having recognized the third person to emerge from the bank, Jeff had not paid much attention to Marie until she shook off the FBI agent who was trying to question her and approached the Tracy father.

"Mr. Tracy," Marie spoke up, a small quiver in her voice. "My name is Marie Shaheen. I am so sorry your boy didn't get out of there. I didn't deserve to go free in his place."

When it looked like Jeff would try and placate her as he had Casey, Marie shook her head. "No, sir. A member of my family had already hurt Alan enough."

"Marie, what are you talking about?" Casey asked. "You never even met Alan or John until today."

Before Marie could respond, Ann-Marie harshly spoke up. "Shaheen? As in Barry Shaheen? Are you related to that monster?"

With tears in her eyes, Marie nodded. "He's my son."

* * *

_**A/N - **_

_**Sam1 - CC can't be here tonight so Jean - aka Sammygirl1963 - and I are here to have a chat with the Tracy brothers.**_

_**Alan - Um, CC isn't here? (Turns) Hey guys, CC isn't here! It's safe. (Only Virgil appears.)**_

_**Jean - Hey, where are the others?**_

_**Virgil (grins) - Well, CC has a really sore throat. I mean, the poor woman takes a couple of days off, is fine yesterday, but wakes up today with a raging sore throat and a mild fever. So not good. Ad Gordon, having this thing for older women - see a few of CC's stories - has brought her some hot tea and chicken broth.**_

_**Sam1 - OK, that is three of you. Where are our two boytoys - I mean, your two eldest brothers?**_

_**Virgil (mutters) Hiding if they are smart (Seeing the two frowning women he smiles once more.) I mean, they just needed some fresh air. After being stuck in the closets all this time.**_

_**Alan (sitting down) - So, what's for snacks this week? Red velvet cake? Oatmeal cookies? **_

_**Jean (shrugs) Sorry, we didn't bring any snacks?**_

_**Alan (jumps back up) What? You know, CC may have shot me, stabbed me, terrorized me, had me run down and blown up - but at least she always fed me!**_

_**Sam1 - Sorry! I - I (Looks up when Gordon walks in.)**_

_**Gordon - Ladies and gentlemen, I give you - apple crisp with french vanilla ice cream.**_

_**Virgil - Seriously? (Grabs dish and serving spoon.)**_

_**Gordon - Yep. CC may be off today, but that is partially because she overdid it yesterday. Which, by the way, included making this. Now, I am going to bring her back another cup of tea to go with the ice cream she was having.**_

_**Jean - She sent us her ice cream? Damn - now I am gonna owe her another chapter.**_

_**Alan - Why? What did you give her for her birthday this year. (Turning to his brothers, he grumbles) Last year she gave me malaria for CC's birthday.**_

_**Sam1 - Oh, don't worry. Jean turned back to Supernatural for CC's birthday so it is their youngest she is torturing.**_

_**Jean - Hey, I don't kill or permanently maim my characters.**_

_**Sam1 - Is, or is not, Sam permanently deaf in one of your stories?**_

_**Jean - No comment.**_

_**Alan (stage whispering) Are odds are better with CC. **_

_**Jean (semi-evil grin) No comment.**_

_**Sam1 - OK, say good night, and make CC feel better with reviews.**_


	17. Chapter 17

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - Do not own the Thunderbirds. If I did, I would actually have a real day off. No work, no errands, no house cleaning. OK, so I had one last Friday. But I also had a fever and a cough. Fever is gone, cough is now just an annoyance. Well, a major annoyance. But I will live. Sigh - Like it or not.**_

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

Gordon Tracy looked over at his brother's girlfriend warily. Even after Emily booby trapped the prank he had left for her – he still hadn't figured out how she had known and was only just starting to figure out what she had done – there were times that Gordon forgot that just because Emily resembled a delicate Dresden doll and had an IQ somewhere around 180, that becoming a doctor in such a demanding field as emergency medicine would make anyone stronger. Having become one before she turned twenty _**and **_looking like she did made Emily into a force to be reckoned with. Gordon would pity the love-struck John –

Except he would also have to admit how much he envied his brother.

When they had gotten in the plane, Emily had simply slid into the pilot's seat without a word and begun the pre-flight checks before Gordon could say anything. "Um, Emily?" Gordon asked, giving a small smile when Emily glanced up.

"Maybe I should fly," Gordon began only for Emily to cut him off.

"Gordon, I have been flying since I was 13 and I bet you anything I can beat the time of any Tracy for flying us to New York." Pausing in her checks, she glanced over at the red-head with a smile. "Except Scott. Seriously – an ex-fighter pilot would probably have me beat."

"Now," Emily said as she finished the checks and strapped herself into the pilot's seat, "get in your seat, strap yourself in and let's see if I can't at least match Scott's best time."

"Seventy minutes," Gordon muttered as he secured himself in the co-pilot's seat.

Beginning to taxi the plane to the end of the hanger, Emily shrugged. "I always liked a challenge."

As they rapidly began their accent, Gordon froze. Daring a glance at the speedometer as Emily leveled off the small jet, the redhead gulped. He wouldn't be making that mistake again.

"Emily," Gordon said shakily a few minutes later. "Tracy Two will need a major tune-up by the time we get to New York if you keep pushing it like that."

Shrugging again, Emily kept her focus on the trip. Jeff Tracy had Tracy One in New York. They could always take that plane back while this one was worked on, right?

* * *

Jeff looked at the woman in dismay. The mother of the – the – _jerk_ who had almost killed his baby was standing in front of him. Worse, she had been released from the bank before either of his beloved sons. Part of him wanted to yell at her. How dare she approach him? How dare she!

"You have every reason to hate me, Mr. Tracy," Marie said miserably. "Your son almost died. It was bad enough that Barry drove drunk and hit your son, but to cover it up and make Alan so much worse through leaving him overnight in the woods? He was absolutely unrepentant. I promise you – we didn't raise our children like that. My husband and I raised our children to give back and consider the well-being of others. But it was like something was broken in that boy. Everything was all about him. The only good thing about what happened was it shook our youngest child, Billy, from hero-worshiping his older brother. My husband and I feared that Billy would become as selfish and self-centered as Barry. But thankfully, he hasn't."

"Do you know where he is?" Carl asked from where he knelt beside his daughter.

"No," Marie said firmly. "I can assure you, if we did, we would be calling the authorities. My family has suffered enough because of that boy."

"Your family has suffered?" Ann-Marie asked, incredulous.

"I lost my seniority at the bank," Marie explained. "Lead teller at a bank fifteen hundred miles away was the best they could offer me. My husband was forced into early retirement from the city of Chicago, and due to his age, only receives sixty percent of the benefits he would of if he had retired when he was supposed to. We sold our home of twenty years at a loss, our daughter lost her scholarship and Billy – my baby lost his friends and almost had a nervous breakdown because of all the harassment. Not to mention reporters who would corner us, asking us "how we felt about what happened". Everyone thinks the family should know. But – well, maybe we just didn't want to know."

"We came to New York to start fresh," Marie explained. "When I realized who your sons were, I wanted to watch out for them. But the leader, she seemed so hostile to your sons, and that was before she knew who they were. I was afraid if I tried to protect them, it would just make her angrier."

"The leader is a woman?" Daria asked.

"Yes," Marie said, even as Casey nodded. "They wore masks but you could tell even with the oversized jackets. They also let some names slip. Um, one – he was rather nice, in a way – they called Mac. The one that shot at the police officers, they called him Kev."

"Probably for Kevin," Hendrickson said.

Daria rolled her eyes. "Possibly. But we need to make sure we don't limit ourselves. And the other one? The female suspect?"

"They called her Sher," Casey said from the couch.

"So," Daria mused. "Sherry, Cheryl or something like that. Hopefully when the car owner gets here, he can have some insight."

As if her words had conjured the man, Agent Sanders entered, escorting someone. Daria took a good look at him before widening her eyes in surprise. Platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect teeth and an athletic body, combined with a self-assured swagger…Well, she doubted John Tracy would swagger like that, but from what she had learned, all of the adult Tracys oozed confidence and self-assurance. If there was a history between the lead criminal and this man, it could go a long way to explain the hostility of the woman to the Tracys.

"Put him in the small conference room, Greg," Daria said with a nod. "I'll be in there shortly."

Taking a deep breath, Daria was prepared to follow them when Jeff Tracy's cell phone rang again –

* * *

Jacob Moehler, a junior partner at the investment firm of Winslow, Turner and Winslow – with strong hopes of adding Moehler to that title, that hope aided by the fact that he was a grandson and nephew of the two Winslows – was furious. He had returned early from a scheduled two week trip to Europe, which had failed to be as profitable as he had hoped.

Luckily, Uncle Richard was a firm believer in investigating anyone they did business with. While Jacob had been working on a deal to grant financing to a software company in England, the venture in Rome had turned out to be a giant pyramid scheme. From what Interpol had announced just yesterday that one of the worst Ponzi schemes since Bernie Madoff was broken.

There was no mention of the fact that Richard Winslow's timely tip had led to the key evidence that had brought the fraud to light.

And his having failed to investigate the business venture thoroughly before he had left made Jacob look bad in his uncle's eyes, an unforgivable turn of events in a world where everything revolved around Jacob Moehler – at least to him. So it was a very disgruntled Jacob that had arrived back in Manhattan, six days before he was supposed to. He would have been back up to a day sooner, but a Virgin Airlines' pilot strike had grounded half of the flights leaving Heathrow, stranding him in the airport until only a few hours later.

Lack of sleep, a sense of failure and the desire for a decent meal – or at least a good bottle of scotch – made for a cranky Jacob. Seeing his car – the latest model of Lexus – parked on the street – _the street _– made Jacob furious. He knew his assistant, Sherri Joyce, had to be responsible. One of her tasks when he was out of town was to make sure that his car was moved from the executive parking to the overnight secured level of the parking garage across from their office building. He supposed he could have left it in the secured lot when he was out of town, but there was no point in leaving his private parking space opens for anyone who knew he was away, was there?

Enraged, Jacob had had the car service drop him off right there on the street. Luckily, Jacob had the original key – Sherri only had a duplicate – and he had driven straight to the office with every intent of firing that presumptuous bitch. Not once had it crossed his mind that Sherri wouldn't be in the office if the car was parked on the street. But what he learned once he got to the office had made Jacob even angrier.

Sherri Joyce had quit. She had typed up her resignation and left it on her desk. When Uncle Richard's assistant had arrived to ask her to pick Jacob up at the airport so he wouldn't be forced to call a car service, the man had discovered the envelope propped against his monitor. To make matters worse, Sherri had made it clear that Jacob was the reason she was quitting. The bitch had accused him of a pattern of harassment, emotional and sexual, that had lasted almost her entire tenure with the firm.

Harrasment! Bullshit. The twit obviously didn't appreciate a few jokes and some light flirting.

So Jacob had not been in a congenial mood when some Nazi had shown up and questioned him right in front of the senior partners and a major new account.

"_Jacob Moehler?" _

_Jacob turned from the group gathered in the hallway near his office to see a man in a clearly off-the-rack suit approach him. Dismissing him as unimportant, Jacob barely noticed the man until a badge was flashed in his face._

"_Agent Sanders, FBI. I need to speak with you about a vehicle registered in your name, a -" the man reviewed his blackberry, "current model Lexus XL67."_

_Seething, Jacob snapped, "What? They are sending feds for parking tickets?" Looking at Sanders with annoyance, Jacob turned back to the group with a smirk. "Obviously, our tax dollars at work in a productive method," Jacob said in a condescending tone._

_Reaching a hand out to direct Jacob's attention back to him, Agent Sanders luckily leaned back when the investment banker snapped, swinging at the federal agent._

"_That's it," Sanders grumbled, grabbing Moehler's right arm and placed one wrist in handcuffs before securing his left arm. "All I wanted was to ask a few questions. All I needed was for you to answer them."_

_Glancing over at the drop-jawed customers and the outraged senior partners, Sanders sighed. "If it turns out he has nothing to do with the investigation more than his car used, he'll be returned. If not – he may need a lawyer."_

"_Forget maybe," Richard Winslow groused. "I'm calling Drake Gilmore. Expect him to be waiting for you at the Federal Building."_

_As Sanders escorted Jacob from the building, the agent grinned to the cop who had accompanied him. "Too bad we are not going to the Federal Building."_

Jacob almost groaned when he realized were the agent was escorting him. Although no longer cuffed, being dragged into Tracy Towers in full view of the billionaire himself was **not **how he pictured entering the building.

All he could hope for was to somehow salvage the day.

Somehow.

* * *

Alan leaned into John, while watching Sarah out of the corner of his eye. Finally the red-head couldn't take it any more.

"OK, Baby," Sarah sighed. "Spill."

"Huh?" Alan asked, confused.

"You used to get the same look when you wanted to ask something and you weren't sure you really wanted the answer," Sarah chided with a soft smile.

"Stop acting like you know me," Alan snapped.

"Alan," John admonished in surprise. "Sarah has known you since you were born."

"Yeah," Alan grumbled. "And she's been missing from a third of my life."

John started to say something only for Sarah to shake her head.

"Allie," Sarah said gently, "how much do you know about the fire at my family's house in Kansas?"

Alan looked down at his clutched hands before speaking. "I know that your parents died straight off, that your sister died in the hospital and that the house was a total loss. But you lived. And it couldn't have been that bad because you look great now. No glasses or braces, and you even lost weight. I guess we were out of sight, out of mind, with your new life and all."

Clutching Alan's chin, Sarah gently turned him to face her. "Baby, I was very badly hurt. I suffered burns over ninety percent of my body, some were even third degree although most were second. My hair is darker but that was because this is new growth. I got lasix surgery on my eyes because my face couldn't support glasses due to the burns. The braces came off normally but a lot of my weight loss was from the fact that I couldn't eat solid foods for six months. I did most of the first half of my time at college in vid classes because of poor mobility. I spent more than a year in hospitals and convalescent homes before I could move in with my aunt."

Sighing, Sarah stroked the side of Alan's face, still seeing the baby she had once played with. "By the time I was recovered enough physically, I still had a lot of emotional healing. And barely a month after I finished college, my aunt, my last blood relative, died. So I threw myself into my work. I guess I thought you all had moved on."

"Well," Alan said sulkily, reminding the other two more of his five year old self, "we didn't. At least I didn't. You could have written."

"Alan, I'm sorry," Sarah said. "But I had a lot on my plate."

"Sarah," John hesitated. "The fire – Well, we heard a lot of stories and -"

"Yes," Sarah sighed, grief obvious. "Holly started it. She was high on something and she started the fire. Mom and Dad died trying to save me."

"Note to self," Alan muttered. "Don't get so mad at Gordy's next prank."

Sarah and John looked at each other before chuckling. Alan always could put things in perspective.

Their amusement died abruptly when Sherri stalked back towards them. Tossing Alan's phone at John, the woman smirked behind her ski mask.

"Time to call. Let's see how much pressure the great Jeff Tracy can put on the government or the bank."

"Why should we?" Alan asked boldly, only to be pulled back by Kevin who had approached them from behind.

"Kill Alan and you won't get anything but a needle in the arm," Sarah argued.

"Oh," Sherri drawled. "We won't kill the little darling. But," she added viciously, "I remember the news from earlier this year. Poor little baby Tracy was hurt so bad, wasn't he? Thanks to the best medical care daddy's money can buy, he's recovering nicely. How well would that recovery continue if my friend here was to beat the crap out of the little brat? You seemed awfully worried about his back. Anything I should know about?"

John just glared at the woman and opened up the phone, keeping an eye on Alan before pressing re-dial. As the phone began to ring, John could only hope their dad had a plan – because he was all out of ideas.

* * *

The ringing of his phone pulled Jeff's divided attention – torn between the man being escorted into his building by Agent Sanders and the mother of that sociopath, Barry Shaheen – back to the table. Agent Delgado silent indicated for Sanders to continue before nodding at Jeff for him to pick up his phone.

"Hello," Jeff said cautiously, hopeful that he would be speaking to one of his sons.

"_Dad," _John's voice could be heard, leaving Jeff struggling to find a chair.

"John, are you and Alan -" Jeff stopped speaking when he heard an indistinct voice followed by John's brief sound of protest.

A new voice suddenly came on the line.

"_Mr. Tracy, I presume?"_

"Yes, this is Jeff Tracy. May I ask to whom I am speaking?"

"_Oh, how polite. No, you may not ask. Just so you know, I am the person holding the lives of two of your sons in their hands."_

"What do you want?" Daria asked.

"_Well, first – I want what I came for. There was supposed to be money here – money gathered by the entire north east divisions of Metro Union Banks. I want every last dollar."_

Daria stifled a sigh. "Depending on when it was gathered, that may be impossible."

"Pick-up was around seven this morning," Marie said softly causing Daria's head to drop.

"More than likely, that money has already been destroyed at the Federal Reserve Bank here in New York," Daria explained.

"How much money is now someone's roofing material or insulation?"

"Eight hundred, seventy eight thousand, nine hundred and thirty four dollars," Marie piped up. Blushing when everyone turned to her in shock, the woman shrugged. "I know numbers. I've worked in banking for almost three decades and hold degrees in finance."

"_Fine," _Sherri said harshly. _"Let's round it up. I don't care if it's from the bank or the government. One million dollars."_

"I'd have to speak to someone from Metro Union," Daria said slowly only to be interrupted by Sherri.

"_That's for the three employees and two of the customers. For the two Tracys? Ten million dollars."_

"Now see here -" Daria began only to be cut off once more, this time by Jeff.

"Fine," Jeff said sharply. "But I will tell you this and you had better listen clearly. If I do not get my sons back, if one hair has been harmed on their heads – there will be no place on this earth for you to hide. I will hunt you down, whatever it takes."

In the lobby of the Tracy Towers, the only one who didn't look shocked at this hard, cold, Jefferson Tracy was Ann-Marie. They had all known how much the man loved his sons, but few people knew to what lengths the billionaire would go to protect them. Heaven help the persons who would, because it was clear that the father would be ruthless in his revenge if his sons were not returned to him, hale and hearty.

In the bank, only John, Alan and Sarah were not shocked by this side of Jeff Tracy. Gone was the affable public figure, replaced by a man with the heart of a warrior, determined to protect his own.

After briefly speaking with the CEO of Metro Union Banks, Daria sighed with a combination of relief and trepidation. The man had made it clear that the million dollars would be made available as soon as possible. Frankly, she doubted he would be so quick to offer up the money if Jeff Tracy wasn't already paying his part. The CEO didn't want to look bad in front of what had to be his single biggest depositor.

Entering the small room where Sanders and the suspect car's owner – Daria looked at her blackberry to jog her memory, oh, yeah, Jacob Moehler – were engaged in a hormone filled glaring contest. Sighing once more, Daria slapped down her hands on a table.

"OK, boys – I have no time or energy for you two – and yes, I mean you as well, Greg – to engage in a pissing contest. Now, Mr. Moehler, my name is Supervisory Special Agent Daria Delgado -"

"You don't look like a Guido," Jacob smirked.

Glancing up, Daria frowned. "First off, Guidos is a misnomer. Secondly, it looks like someone watched trash like Jersey Shore too much in your youth. Perhaps that was a desperate attempt to be culturally hip with a domineering mother and a father who put his lost hopes of social acceptance on his son?"

At Jacob's glare, Daria smirked. "I looked up your family as soon as your name came up. Moehler – sounded a bit familiar. That would have been James Moehler, former U.S. Congressman, who resigned in the wake of a scandal. Insider trading, never proven in his case, supposedly all the fault of his aid. Congressman Moehler resigned because of his "poor judgment in selecting his staff". Most people felt it was a shame. With your father's packaging and your mother's family's influence, he could have gone all the way. You could have spent your teen years in the White House. Instead, you moved back to New York where Daddy died a few years later of a heart attack."

"You have done fairly well – thanks to your uncle and grandfather. They probably figure that if they groom you right, they get a payback for what your father blew for them. You got the pretty boy looks – you either become a perfect heir and partner, considering your cousins rejected the family business – and dad - when your uncle dumped wife one for trophy wife two. Or you become a political golden boy, once enough time has been distanced between you and your father."

"Oh," Daria finished, "my husband's family is from Puerto Rico, but that was back in the 1950's."

Jacob glared at her again. "My family is my life. They've been good to me and my mother, but that is what family does. Now you are the second bitch today who has been trying to mess up my life. First that idiot Sherri -"

"Wait," Daria interrupted, "Sherri?"

"Sherri Joyce, my former assistant," Jacob grumbled. "I expected her to keep an eye on my car, not use it for joyrides. And she sure as hell wasn't supposed to be using it on the same day she left her little goodbye letter. If I hadn't come back from my business trip early, I would have never caught it. She left my car parked on the street."

"And you moved it?" Daria asked,

"Of course I did," Jacob said patiently, as if explaining something to a child. "I wasn't going to leave a car that is worth more than I pay the twit on the street. I had the car service drop me off and I drove it back to my building."

"Not to your home?" Daria queried.

"I wanted to discuss certain things with my uncle first," Jacob explained calmly. "He is my boss. Or don't you discuss things with your boss?"

"Back to your assistant, Sherri," Daria attempted to redirect the conversation.

"What about her?"

"Would she have any reason to do something – _extreme_?" Daria asked cautiously.

"Extreme like how?" Jacob scoffed. "She was a competent assistant who should have known her place. I gave her a job – a _career_ – as a favor to my friend, Bobby."

"Bobby? Is that her boyfriend?" Daria questioned.

"They were living together at the time," Jacob smirked before chuckling.

"Sorry," Daria said. "I don't get the joke."

"Robert Prescott, last son of a very old family," Jacob explained. "Unfortunately, most of the old money died out with his father. Bobby still attended the best schools, thanks to a trust his grandfather had set up. But the cost of a good education has increased and the fact that his family hadn't endowed anyone lately made things a bit harder. When he started at Columbia, Bobby realized the trust wouldn't last long enough for him to get the education he needed to recoup the family fortune."

Daria didn't think she liked the way this was going but she allowed the man to continue.

"So he meets a hottie named Sherri Joyce, a waitress who was attending Brooklyn City College. Next thing you know, she is down to a couple of classes instead of full time, and Bobby doesn't have to pay for room or meals. In fact, she was even paying for his books and supplies."

"Bobby stretches his trust to go to graduate school," Jacob laughed. "But he needed more money, so since Sherri now had her associates degree, I gave her a job as my assistant. And when Bobby started an internship at the firm, he convinced her he needed her to keep quiet about their relationship. No fraternizing, as Grandfather would say. He even moved in with me, his old school buddy to "_protect her reputation_.""

"I take it they aren't together anymore?" Daria asked frostily.

"He married Oliver Turner's – the third senior partner – only daughter last year. Now Bobby is on the fast track at the firm, and they have a real sweet brownstone that was a gift from his father-in-law. Much nicer than that walk-up studio apartment he shared with Sherri."

"So she works her tail off thinking she is helping to build their future, and he dumps her when someone with a better bank account comes along."

"Hey, it was all her own fault,' Jacob defended his friend. "Sherri actually thought that a scion of one of the oldest, most prestigious family's in New York would _marry_ her. I mean, how delusional is that? She set herself up for a fall when she tried to climb the social ladder like that."

"Sherri was hurt," Daria surmised.

"I suppose," Jacob shrugged. "I tried to be a supportive, understanding boss -"

"You hit on her," Sanders kicked in.

"I was merely offering comfort," Jacob said carefully. "I even gave her a gift – I called it a Christmas Bonus. It's one of those pens you get that has money shredded up in it."

"So you hit on her, helped her boyfriend use her and give her a three dollar pen as a Holiday Bonus," Sanders said sarcastically. "Wow, you used everything but a Black and Decker to screw her over, didn't you?"

"That's enough," Daria snapped before turning back to Jacob. "I need your assistant's cell phone number and e-mail address, personal and professional. Also, I will need access to her phone records at work, and you will give me all that information five minutes ago."

"Fine," Jacob snapped back, as he wrote down all the information. "Then can I go?"

"No," Daria said calmly. When Jacob looked to protest, Daria raised a hand. "Seriously – I think your life could be in danger."

As the door closed behind her, Daria shrugged. "So you would go from being a jerk to a dead jerk."

Thinking of the man she left back in the room, Daria shook her head. Moehler resembled John Tracy and she was afraid the other man could be paying for that now. Daria could only hope John would be alright. Because if that was Sherri Joyce in the bank, the woman had a lot of anger that would only need the slightest spark to blow them all to hell.

* * *

_**A/N -Yes - you are supposed to dislike Jacob. He doesn't excuse Sherri, but he does help explain it.**_


	18. Chapter 18

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - Not mine. Sigh. Soooooo sad.**_

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

Daria walked back out to the lobby, where Jeff looked up in interest.

"Does he know anything about the robbers?" Jeff asked quietly.

"According to Jacka- Jacob Moehler," Daria hastily corrected herself, "the only person besides himself to have access to his car was his assistant – Sherri Joyce."

"Sher," Jeff muttered before sighing when Daria nodded.

"Now what?" Jeff asked when Daria pulled out her notes.

"I need to access Ms. Joyce's phone and e-mail records and hope to figure out who her cohorts are, if it is may not get us any advantage but I'm a firm believer in knowledge is power."

Jeff looked back at the now closed door where the stranger had been led before speaking again.

"He looks like John. It's superficial, but it's there."

Daria nodded once more. "It could lead to why she was so resentful of your son even before she knew who he was. And trust me – from what he said, Ms. Joyce has plenty of reason to resent him."

Sighing again, Jeff looked at Daria's notes and reached across to turn on the vid-phone. Sending out a discreet signal first to let Brains know to set up the holograph – used for when someone was calling the Thunderbird Five operator and the caller was not to know just how long distance the call really was – Jeff gave a small smile when the scientist answered.

"M-Mr. Tracy," Brains stuttered. "H-how is the sit-sit- what's happening?"

"As Gordon would phrase it," Jeff shrugged, "SNAFU doesn't begin to cover it. The robbers now know that Alan and John are my sons and are demanding a separate ransom."

"Are y-you going t-to p-pay it?"

Nodding, Jeff quickly changed the subject. "Brains, the FBI has the -" Jeff looked at the list before speaking again. "They have the cell, home and work numbers, as well as the personal and work e-mail addresses for a potential suspect. How soon can you get me transcripts, and a log of all in-coming and out-going?"

Daria was about to argue, saying that they first needed a warrant and then it would take a few hours to obtain all the data when Professor Hackenbacker spoke up again.

"W-with F-Fermat's help, t-ten minutes, f-fifteen if she h-has s-something like Lifelock," Brains answered. Cocking his head, he shook his head. "N-no, still t-ten. A-apparently, A-Alan f-found a f-flaw in Lifelock. H-he sh-showed Fermat."

Once Brains had signed off, Jeff turned to Daria who was staring at him in disbelief. Jeff's gaze was harder than most people would ever see.

"If this is the woman responsible for threatening my sons, she will learn one fact. NO ONE messes with my family. Ever," Jeff said harshly before turning to call Gordon. He really needed one of his sons to be there.

As she watched him walk away, Daria muttered to no one in particular, "Remind me to never piss off a Tracy."

* * *

John Tracy glared at Sherri as she once more shoved Alan towards him. Catching the teenager before he could fall, John pulled Alan towards him, whispering words of comfort as he felt his younger brother shaking.

By now, Sarah was also glaring at the woman and it amused the Tracy Brothers to no end that the robbers – so unmoved by Alan's or John's glares - were becoming unnerved by the fire burning in her green eyes.

"Down girl," John whispered after Sarah loosed a low growl when one of the robbers came too close to Alan for the red-head's comfort.

Alan chuckled, bringing a smile to the faces on either side of him. The teenager was hiding it well, but it was obvious to anyone who knew him that the kid was scared, so it made them feel better.

At least a little.

"So," Sarah breathed out. "What have you guys been up to lately?"

"Besides having more than my fair share of nut jobs scaring the hell out of me and trying to kill me?" Alan snarked.

"Yeah," Sarah grinned. "Let's go beyond that."

"Any particular family member?" John asked.

"Well," Sarah mused, tapping her index finger on her chin. "I've read your books – I don't understand all of it but I've read them," she cheerfully added. "So I know you were with the space program for a while. Anything interesting during that?"

"Besides John discovering a whole new star and naming it for our mother?" Alan asked.

"OK," Sarah clarified. "Something that wasn't in any of the books."

John looked thoughtful for a moment before he began to chuckle. "Alright, there was a time, just before I left the space agency, I was working on a team that was testing window strengths. Now, the way we did this was to shoot a dead chicken at the windshield. -"

"Wait," Sarah said. "What?"

"I'm serious," John said.

"Man," Sarah joked. "I know a couple of guys back in Bailey who would have done great with that."

Alan and John both chuckled before the older brother continued.

"So one day these engineers from France are there. They are working on a new high speed train and want to make sure the windshields are as strong as possible. Since they know we use this cannon to test the windshields of military jets, they figure it was a good call. The French engineers are amazed and ask if we can build them a cannon. In the spirit of international cooperation, we got them one within a week."

"The French can't wait to test their windshields, so as soon as they got the cannon, the test was scheduled. When the cannon goes off, the engineers stand shocked as the chicken crashed into the - allegedly -shatterproof shield, smashing it to smithereens, blasting through the control console, snapping the pilot's backrest in two, and embedding itself in the back wall of the cabin."

"Now, of course, the horrified French send the Americans a report of the disastrous results, along with an urgent request for suggests on improving the windshield design."

Laughing, John managed to get out, "Our engineers responded with a one-line memo: "Thaw the chicken.""

Ignoring the glares and confused looks from the others in the bank, the three continued to laugh, holding on to each other as they had since they were little.

* * *

Daria glanced over at Jeff Tracy, before moving further into the bowels of the Tracy Towers' lobby. She had been planning on making a call before Mr. Tracy had shown that he was more than capable of getting the information for the suspect. But now maybe another question could be answered: Who had leaked the identity of the Tracy brothers to the media.

Worse, it had been leaked to Ana Nevada. God, Daria couldn't stand that bitch. The woman waived the first amendment around like it was a flag of glory, when in truth Nevada used it to justify her own selfish wants and needs, disregarding all the harm that could be done. Luckily, Daria knew just who to call.

Checking to make sure no one was around, Daria pulled out her cell. Thumbing through her contacts, Daria grinned when she reached the E's. A quick press of the button and the ringing of the phone had set her plan in motion.

"_Hello," _a weary voice made Daria pause before she answered.

"Eppsie?"

The weary voice suddenly became crisp and rather annoyed. _"Dammit, Morgandorfer – you know I hate it when you call me Eppsie."_

"Why do you think I call you that?"

A long sigh was the only answer. Katherine Eppes had been Daria's roommate at Quantico and while Daria had never been one to make friends easily, her directness and honesty had been refreshing to the other trainee. Kate, a recent UCLA graduate, had the misfortune of being accepted into training for the FBI at almost the same time as her father, a long-time FBI agent, had been appointed as the agency's Director. At best, most assumed the young woman, unique for having been accepted into the Bureau at only twenty-one, was there as the result of nepotism. At worst, some believed she was nothing more than a plant, sent to spy from within the ranks.

But Daria had been willing to watch. Kate had graduated with dual degrees in criminology and computer science, was a forth degree black belt – although Daria had recently learned Kate had now bumped that up a degree – and a hell of a shot. Plus, the one time the Director had come around while his daughter was in training, it was clear to anyone with eyes that it was the last place the man wanted his youngest child to be.

Kate had been assigned to the Chicago office, working computer crimes, but was often tasked to work with other offices. The agent was a great hacker and as comfortable with software as her side arm. (Daria had seen her shoot and often reminded herself not to piss the other woman off.)

"I'm sure you are busy right now," Daria began, only for Agent Eppes to cut her off.

"_Actually, I'm on some personal time at the moment,"_ Kate said with a slight shake to her voice. _"My grandfather was hospitalized yesterday."_

Recalling the kind, nurturing man who Eppes had adored, Daria felt guilty for calling. "Geez, Eppsie, sorry," she murmured. "Is he going to be alright?"

The silence seemed to drag on forever, even if it was less than thirty seconds before Eppes answered. _"He died an hour ago. My Dad and Uncle Charlie are talking to the Rabbi now about services." _After a shuddering breath was heard, the voice returned.

"_C'mon, Dorf – what is it? I take it you need me to get something "sans warrant"?"_

"Ah, you know me so well," Daria smirked, recognizing that her friend was desperate for a distraction.

"_So? What is it?"_

"Remember Ana Nevada?" At the expletive muttered by Kate, Daria smiled again. Oh, yeah – Kate remembered the reporter. "She is the reporter I need you to check out. Someone involved with the investigation I am working – a bank robbery at the Metro Union in central Manhattan -"

"_The one across from the Tracy Towers?" _When Daria was shocked into silence, Kate gave a small chuckle. _"It's all over the news. So you got that? Cool."_

"Says you," Daria muttered.

"_So, someone on the inside leaked info?"_

"Yeah," Daria said. "Sanders I can trust but there are still a few people who resented my being out so high up in the food chain here in New York. Also, there are NYPD here."

"_Any civilians?"_

Looking around Daria did a mental count. "Um, eleven. But trust me, none of them are involved."

"_You sure?" _Kate asked doubtfully.

Thinking of Jeff Tracy's love for his sons and the almost fanatical devotion his employees showed towards the billionaire, Daria nodded before realizing the other agent couldn't see her.

"Oh, yeah, Eppsie – I'm sure," Daria said. "Call me when you have something."

Hanging up, Daria walked back over to the group, hurrying a bit when a phone on the main table rang –

* * *

Emily landed Tracy Two with swift efficiency, doing a post flight check with the calm assurance and competency of years of experience. As she unbuckled herself from the pilot's seat, the young doctor glanced over at Gordon, nearly chuckling at his expression.

"Gordon, you'll break the arms of the seat if you don't let go," Emily calmly stated. When the red-head didn't move, Emily sighed. Removing the seatbelt from her boyfriend's brother, she reached down and pulled the younger man from the co-pilot's chair.

"Oh, come on," Emily groaned. "It wasn't that bad. It's not like I flew as fast as Scott."

"You only missed his record by five minutes!" Gordon gasped. "I can't believe we made it here in one piece."

Sighing again, Emily grabbed her medical bag – which Gordon hadn't even realized she had brought – and the oversized purse she was so fond of, before dragging Gordon behind her.

"Why did I have to fall in love with a family so full of DQ's?" she grumbled as they made their way to the exit.

"DQ's?" Gordon asked as he stumbled behind her.

Smirking, Emily cast an eye over her shoulder before exiting the plane. "Drama Queens," she chuckled as she released Gordon at the small steps leading to the outside.

Freezing at the top of the stairs, Gordon shook himself before beginning to argue to Emily. "Drama Queens? Come on, it could at least be Drama Kings? Well, maybe Princes? We're Tracys, manly men, remember?"

Grinning for a moment as she grabbed the keys from an airport employee – they could sense Ann-Marie's fine hand in a car being waiting for them – Emily slid into the driver's seat before responding.

"Oh, yeah. Well, I know John is at least."

Opening the passenger door, Gordon tossed his ready bag in back before sighing. Virgil and Scott might be right – he really didn't want to know _that _about his brothers' lives.

* * *

The vid-phone on the conference table that had been set up in the lobby was buzzing, with the number for Thunderbird Five (labeled to outsiders as "Lab – J.G. Tracy") showing up on the alert. Pressing the button to answer it, Jeff made sure that Agent Delgado was behind him.

Pulling up a chair beside Jeff Tracy, Daria sat down, ready to take notes. Some of her co-workers teased her about her use of notepads as much as most people used data pads, but the agent was quick to point out that it was easier to grab a pen when it ran dry than to try and recover lost data if a system crashed.

"M-Mr. Tr-Tracy," Brains spoke up, nodding politely when he also saw Daria sitting next to Jeff.

"Tell me you have something," Jeff asked, a note of pleading in his voice.

Brains nodded. "D-Downloading e-mails, d-digital v-voice m-mails and ph-phone logs f-for the l-last year. T-Take sp-special n-note of c-communications with a M-Michael Mc-McKenzie and K-Kevin Thompson."

"Thompson?" Ann-Marie said in shock even as Hendrickson looked at her in suspicion.

"W-we ch-checked, Ann-Marie," Fermat said from behind his father. "N-no re-re-re – he's not family."

"My late husband's family will be glad to know that," Ann-Marie muttered.

"W-We also in-included ba-background ch-checks on them," Brains continued.

Daria was reading the data that was being streamed to them, her eyes widening at the resumes of the three. While Sherri seemed to have no connection to the bank, Thompson worked for the armor car company that serviced the bank and McKenzie was an employee of Metro Union, in Tech Support. Per their company records – Daria would love to know how the Hackenbackers had gotten the companies' current daily logs – McKenzie had called in sick while Thompson had quit, saying someone had died and left him money.

Obviously, Thompson wasn't the brains of the operation. Anyone even loosely connected with the Treasury deliveries would have been investigated. Unless Thompson had produced a body and probated will, he would have moved up the list of suspects so fast his empty head would have spun.

Credit and debit card records were appearing next, making Daria sigh. For the love of – ski masks, semi-automatic weapons and ammo, bought on-line (sadly legally for the most part), and even a gas receipt two blocks from the bank that morning.

"Why can't I ever work with a criminal genius?" Daria muttered as she continued to make notes.

"Because you're not Kate," Greg muttered for her ears only.

Daria mock glared at him, before chuckling slightly. Working with computer criminals, Kate would often joke, was a challenge as the bad guys were at least computer literate. To get to the point that they drew the attention of the FBI usually meant that they were highly skilled and rather intelligent.

Picking up Jeff's phone, Daria smirked. "OK," she nodded. "Time to put the bad guys on the defensive."

"Is that such a good idea?" Carl asked from a few feet away. They were getting ready to transport a protesting Casey and Jeff had assured him that the other man should go with his daughter. In preparation, Carl had been briefing his second in command, Brett, to take charge when the call had come in from the Hackenbackers.

"Right now," Daria explained, "they think they hold all the cards. Once they get the money and a way out – probably with some hostages and I'll give you a guess that at least one will be named Tracy – there is no reason for them to leave anyone alive. In fact, if they leave with hostages, I wouldn't give a plug nickel for the life of anyone leaving the bank with them."

Seeing how pale Jeff had gone at that, Ann-Marie put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Turning to Jeff, Daria worried her lip for a moment, regretting her harsh words. "I'm sorry, Mr. Tracy -"

"Agent Delgado, I appreciate your honesty. One of the reasons my company is such a success is because I hire people who are the best at what they do," Jeff explained, gesturing to his employees, including Brains who was still on the vid. He didn't seem to realize how the employees all seemed to stand a bit taller at this comment as he continued.

"I have been assured by various sources that you are one of the best at what you do," Jeff said. "So I will follow your lead to end this safely and get all the hostages out and the criminals apprehended. I'll follow the rules as you establish."

Daria relaxed until Jeff spoke up once more.

"But if you fail, and they harm my sons," Jeff whispered harshly, "then they will learn a lesson – no one harms my sons. No one. I am a successful man. I am an honest man. But they will discover – I am not always a nice man. Especially if I am protecting my own."

Jeff walked away, leaving the law enforcement officials all a bit nervous.

"Remember how you warned me to never piss off Eppes?" Sanders whispered to Daria. When his fellow agent nodded, he continued.

"Well, never piss off a Tracy."

Yeah. She had already guessed that.

* * *

"So," Kevin mused, "we get the money and then what? Just walk back to where we left the car?"

"No," Sherri said. "I didn't think that anyone would be watching when we left so I never removed the plates from the a-hole's car. They run them, tell my boss his car was used in a bank robbery and he'll be so quick to give me up our heads would spin."

"Should we ask for a chopper?" Kevin asked, his eyes bright with a child-like excitement.

"And where would it land?" Mac groaned, smacking Kevin in the back of the head. "The plaza and the street are filled with emergency vehicles and news crews."

"We get another car," Sherri said calmly. "A mini-van. Full tank of gas and enough room for us and a guest or two." Looking over at the Tracys, she smiled coldly. "At least one. Young, healthy – and with an important enough father that no one will even think of following us as long as we keep a gun to his head."

Overhearing the last words, John tensed, tightening his grip on his youngest brother. Looking down at Alan, John was relieved to see that the teenager was still asleep. Exhausted by the events of the day, Alan had drifted off to sleep when Sarah was telling a funny story from her training days with the Boston Fire Department.

Glancing over at Sarah, John knew she had overheard the robbers as well. The redhead was glaring at the trio, as if daring them to come anywhere near "her" baby. John gave her a small smile only to have her angry expression change to curious.

"What's that grin for Johnny?"

"You really are a Tracy at heart, aren't you?"

Smiling as she brushed a gentle hand over Alan's head, just as she had when he was a toddler, Sarah shrugged. "It was the one place I felt loved and accepted without question."

"And Virgil had nothing to do with it?" John teased lightly.

Blushing slightly, Sarah nudged the blonde's shoulder, careful not to disturb Alan. "I am so over that crush, John Glen Tracy."

"So, if I were to mention that Virgil is still available, you wouldn't be in the least bit interested?"

"Of course not," Sarah responded firmly before glancing back at John.

"He's really not seeing anyone one at the moment?"

John almost laughed when the Alan's phone rang again, waking the teenager from his nap.

Sherri snapped up the phone, answering it quickly.

"You have my money?"

"_The funds are now available," _the voice had. Sherri and the Tracys quickly recognized it as the lead FBI agent's voice.

"All of it?"

"_One million dollars from Metro-Union and ten million from Jeff Tracy, just as you said. How do you want us to deliver it?"_

Sherri grinned in triumph. "You can have it brought up with a small SUV – a min-van or something. Tinted windows, full tank of gas and no tracking devices. We'll be taking company with us and if anyone tries to stop us, the results won't be pretty."

"_So you don't want to use your boss's Lexus to leave?"_

Freezing, Sherri had to force herself to breathe, knowing from the sounds behind her that Kevin and Mac were also shocked by the agent's words.

"I don't know what you mean."

"_Sure you do, Sherri. You thought your boss, Jacob Moehler, was going to be out of town until next week. By that time, his car would be parked in it's designated spot and you would be gone. Mac was smart in calling in sick but he really shouldn't have used his own credit card to buy the supplies off the internet. By the way – his Visa account is overdrawn and in arrears. And Kevin? If you are going to quit, don't give a reason like someone died and left you money unless someone really has. It's a lousy alibi, especially since you work for the same armored car company that services the runs between the Metro Union Banks and the Treasury."_

"How the hell did she find all that out?" Kevin screamed in fury.

Mac and Sherri glared at their compatriot, annoyed that he had confirmed all the information with his outburst.

"So," Sherri snarled. "You're smarter than the average Feeb. Goody for you. So if you are so smart, tell me – what do I have to lose if I don't get exactly what I've asked for."

"_Everyone will know who you are. They'll be no where for you to hide, Sherri."_

"With my share of eleven million dollars," Sherri smirked, "a bit of plastic surgery before heading to a country without extradition to the U.S. should be easy. I don't have to hide forever. Just long enough to get where I need to go."

Silence met that statement until Sherri spoke up again.

"Twenty minutes, the money walks into the bank. I'll let one person out far enough to take it from someone. We'll bring it in here, make sure no bugs or booby traps. Ten minutes after the cash is delivered, the SUV better be out front. I'll have one person walk out and start the car. Then four of us will leave. I'll let my "guests" go once I am sure we are not being followed."

Abruptly, Sherri hung up the phone. Turning to Mac and Kevin, she motioned with her head.

"Check the bank again. Make sure no more surprises, no other ways in. We need to make sure we are in control here."

"Hey, Sher," Kevin said, gesturing towards the tellers' stands. "How about some walking around money?"

When Sherri nodded, Kevin ran towards the stands, only to yell when the first drawer would not open.

"It's stuck."

"It's locked," Lisa corrected from the floor.

"Who has the keys?" Sherri asked.

"The manager and the head teller," Lisa said snidely. "The man you killed and the woman you released."

Walking over to Mosley's dead body, Sherri rifled through his pockets before tossing the keys to Lisa. "You – go help him."

Glaring at the woman, Lisa stalked over to where Kevin was waiting, unlocking the drawers so that the robber could pull out the cash and stuff it into a tote bag – the summer bonus for signing up for a new checking account – that he had found under the counter. When a packet of bills fell to the ground, unnoticed by Kevin, Lisa looked around to see if anyone else had spotted it.

Seeing no one else watching them, Lisa kicked the packet of new fifty dollar bills, to the side slightly. After glancing around one more time to make sure no one was watching her, the receptionist picked up the cash while pretending to adjust her broken designer sandals. Stuffing the money into her bra, Lisa adjusted her blouse to make sure the cash was hidden. This day had seen several hundred dollars worth of designer clothes ruined and Lisa wanted to be reimbursed.

It was only fair, right?

Not noticing the acts of greed behind her, Sherri moved closer to the Tracys and Sarah.

Gesturing her gun at Sarah, Sherri spoke up. "You'll reach out and get the money. That should keep the cops from shooting – not wanting to hit someone else in uniform. And I presume you can drive?"

Not wanting to admit that she rarely drove in New York, Sarah thought instead of her usual life in Boston. "I usually drive the Squad, and I prefer to drive to work versus the subway."

"Good," Sherri said before looking over at Alan. "And I really don't think anyone wants to see a kid hurt anymore than needed, right? He'll do for a driving companion."

"Leave my brother alone," John growled before trying to deal with the woman.

"Take me instead. Leave Alan here," John begged.

Ignoring Alan's cry of _"No, John!",_ Sherri scoffed at the older Tracy.

"Let's see – a healthy adult male versus a teen age boy who is still recovering from a severe accident just a few months ago. Please. I think not."

When Sherri reached down to grab at Alan, John snapped. With another growl, John threw himself at Sherri, disregarding any consequences in a desperate attempt to protect his brother –

* * *

_**A/N - Ah, what am I about to do?**_

_**Sam1 - That's a good idea. What the hell are you about to do to John?**_

_**CC - We've discussed this. And I always patch everyone up.**_

_**Jean - Yeah and Emily is coming. She'll give John some TLC.**_

_**Sam1 (glowers) - - Yeah - Emily will give him TLC.**_

_**CC (whispers) Not good to remind her of Emily.**_

_**John (calls from next room) - CC, the timer on the stove just went off.**_

_**CC - Ooh. My sweet rolls. (runs out)**_

_**Sam1 (calling out as John enters) - John, lock the door. Keep her in the kitchen and away from her keyboard.**_

_**John (sitting) No way - she has the food.**_

_**Alan (entering with Scott) - Ooh, is CC cooking again? What now?**_

_**Scott (sniffs) - Sweet rolls with orange frosting glaze.**_

_**John (gestures to Scott) He can smell desert a mile away.**_

_**Jean (pulls Scott down to sit next to her) - Don't worry, I'll make sure you get plenty.**_

_**Scott (grins) - I knew I liked you.**_

_**CC (re-enters with plate of sweet rolls and a jug of sweet tea) Jean, set out the plates. Alan, the glasses. Sam1 - stay put. Emily is coming in soon and you don't get John any more.**_

_**Sam1 (glares) - Meanie.**_

_**CC (grins) I prefer psycho bee-atch from Hell. Eat up boys and girls - It's only gonna get more complicated. Oh, and before anyone says anything - Yes, Kate has made a teensy appearance, John's story is based on a joke someone sent me a few weeks ago and if you are questioning anything else, just ask about it in a review. Any problems or praise? Review. Or, you can just review. PLEASE!**_


	19. Chapter 19

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - *looks around* I tried to find one at K-Mart, but they were all out. But I got a raincheck!**_

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* * *

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Chapter 19

John threw himself towards Sherri, desperate to try and protect Alan. He was so focused on the woman in front of him that he failed to realize that Kevin had seen the disturbance and rushed over.

Grabbing John by his left wrist, Kevin pulled the other man back with a sharp tug. As John yelped in pain, Kevin used his iron grip to pull him back and throw the blonde to the ground. Sarah and Alan quickly moved towards John, trying to protect him.

Kevin took a menacing step towards the trio when Sherri held up her hand.

"A bit of restraint, please," Sherri grumbled. Looking over at John she shook her head before pushing Kevin's shoulder. "Both of you. And Kev, if you got your "pocket money", go help Mac check the perimeter. There has to be an alternate way out of here if needed."

Watching to make sure Kevin was following her orders, Sherri knelt down beside the trio, watching as Sarah examined John's wrist.

"Now," Sherri asked calmly, "tell me what good that did any of us? You hurt your wrist and like it or not, the kid here is still the best bet for coming with us."

"Then take me, too," John said. "Leave Sarah Jane here and take me. New York City has practically been our second home for years. I've driven here, plenty, and I know how to get out of town fast." When Sherri's eyes began to look at him with consideration, John pressed his case.

"I know of a private airstrip, just outside the city. There are heli-jets there and I can arrange for a pilot, someone loyal to my family. He could get you started. There is a small office there, and since it is Friday, no one will be there. It's only manned four days a week. Lock us in there and we'd be stuck until Monday. By then you can be half way around the world."

Sherri nodded. "I'll consider it." Standing, she turned and walked slightly away from the group.

"John," Alan said softly, "you do know I can pick the lock on that office. I did it once when Scott stuck me in there when he was doing test flights and didn't want me on the runway."

"Yep," John said. "She also doesn't know that all the phones are satellite, so when she cuts the phone lines, they will only be taking out the back-up systems. She also isn't aware that it is a private airfield owned by Tracy Enterprises, that we own the heli-jets and all of the equipment has a special version of the lo-jack system so we can track it anywhere in the world – plus have a manual override that means we can control where it goes. What do you say we drop them off in Kansas?"

"Leavenworth or Bailey?" Alan asked with a smirk.

"Hmm," Sarah mused. "Leavenworth has one of the most secure federal prisons in the country. Bailey is hometown to the Tracys, a place where most consider the Tracys extended family and credit Jeff Tracy with saving the town when the plant closed – a place where the Tracys are practically worshiped as deities. A place where Jeannie Bates will be waiting armed with a shotgun – or her mother will have a frying pan. Either would be deadly to anyone who hurt a Tracy."

"Your right," John sighed. "It would be kinder to leave them at Leavenworth."

* * *

Gordon Tracy had been prepared to contact his father and have someone meet them at the edge of the mass of emergency personnel gathered in the plaza between Tracy Towers and the Metro-Union Bank where two of his brothers were currently being held. He knew from his work with International Rescue that they wouldn't let just anyone slip past and that it might be next to impossible for them to get through.

Impossible, meet Emily Haas.

The red-headed Tracy son watched in a kind of wonder and awe while Emily prepared a mixture of charm and utter intimidation on the law enforcement surrounding the building. Gordon had been amused to see how the young doctor disregarded the presence of the media, acting as if the members of the fourth estate who had recognized him were beneath her notice and unworthy of her time. A calming hand on his arm from Emily was all that was needed any time a challenge was made to their progress. When they finally reached the side entrance to the lobby of Tracy Towers, Gordon had only one thought.

_That girl is good._

"Gordon!"

Turning at the sound of his name, Gordon smiled as he was swept into a hug by Ann-Marie Watkins.

"Oh, honey, your dad will be so glad to see you. He really needs someone." Looking over at Emily, Ann-Marie raised an eyebrow.

Spluttering, Gordon hastily introduced the two women.

"Ann-Marie, this is Dr. Emily Haas, John's girlfriend. Emily, this is Ann-Marie Watkins, Dad's right hand, surrogate aunt to the Tracy brothers and the secret boss of Tracy Enterprises."

Emily and Ann-Marie both chuckled lightly before shaking hands.

"I've heard so much about you," Emily said lightly.

"And I haven't heard enough – about – you," Ann-Marie's voice trailed off as she stared at a small locket with a shooting star around Emily's throat. "Um, Emily – that necklace…"

Emily touched a reverent finger to the locket. "John gave it to me before he left for New York. It's beautiful isn't it?"

Ann-Marie nodded, looking at Emily in a whole new light. It was doubtful from Gordon or Emily's reactions, but Ann-Marie knew that Jeff had given Lucy a gift with the birth of each son. The fact that Emily was now wearing the locket the Tracy father had given his wife when John was born said that the woman was much more than a girlfriend. In fact, Ann-Marie was certain she was looking at the future Mrs. John Tracy.

Jeff looked over to see Ann-Marie talking to Gordon and Emily. With a relieved sigh, he stood, calling out, "Gordon – Emily – Over here."

Gordon jogged over to join his father, relaxing into the man's firm embrace. Emily approached at a more sedate, seemingly relaxed pace, but Jeff could see the lines of tension around the younger woman's eyes and mouth. Before he could say anything, his eyes caught the locket around her throat. Lightly touching the piece he had not seen since giving it to John years ago, Jeff smiled.

"John gave you that?"

"Yes," Emily responded, oblivious to the significance of the locket and puzzled at why both Ann-Marie and Jeff were reacting so strongly to it.

Jeff didn't say anything more, choosing instead to pull Emily into a quick hug. _"So Lucy," _he thought with a smile, _"what do you think of your "little dreamer's" choice?"_

A scent of lilac swirled around them, making Jeff smile.

Lucy approved.

* * *

Michael "Mac" McKenzie was carefully examining the break room where they had found Casey earlier. Nudging at a door, Mac looked inside to see a storage area, a bit larger than a closet yet not really large enough to be considered a room. See the electronic lock that had been jimmied, Mac was suitably impressed. This had to have been where Alan Tracy had been hidden. A normal teenager would have been stuck here until someone let him out.

Mac suspected the Tracys didn't do normal well.

Oh, he had heard the stories. The Tracys weren't just probably the wealthiest family in America (and one of the richest in the world). They were beyond America's version of royalty. The family had long since been placed on the level of worship that was once given to gods. But unlike many celebrities that the fickle public chose to worship, these men seemed to deserve to be held in awe.

Recalling the article he had read in fascination a while ago – his guilty pleasure had always been People Magazine – Mac thought of what had been written about the Tracy Family. Father Jeff Tracy, astronaut, engineer, founder of one of the largest, wealthiest companies in the world. The man had married a school teacher he had met while working for NASA and had five sons with her before the wife's – Lucy? – death more than a decade ago.

Their oldest son Scott had been an outstanding high school baseball player but had chosen to focus on a military career and had been a hero of the Terrorist Wars, even if the mission in which he became a Medal of Honor winner was still classified.

John, the second brother – who was in the next room – graduated from Harvard at a young age and went to work for NASA as a civilian. While serving as a mission specialist aboard the International Space Station, John had discovered a new star, which he named in memory of his mother. He was also a prolific author and was credited with the renewed interest in space exploration.

Middle son Virgil Tracy was a stand-out high school and college All-American football player, who was also known as a talented artist and musician. Apparently there had been much debate as to whether that Tracy would become a professional athlete or follow the arts, only to surprise everyone when he had taken his degree in mechanical engineering and gone to work for his father.

Gordon Tracy had apparently made a life out of bucking the odds. Born prematurely following a car accident, the red-haired Tracy – the hair being a throwback to a grandparent, according to the magazine – the fourth son had nearly died while serving in the now defunct WASPs. And even after the doctors had assured Jeff Tracy that his son would never walk again, Gordon had won a gold medal at the Olympics a few years ago. Mac thought it was for swimming but he wasn't sure. It was some water sport - that was a definite.

Then there was the baby of the family. Alan. Not a lot was known about the teenager since his mother died. Mac thought the kid had been around four, maybe three; definitely not older than five. The family had done everything they could to shelter and protect the kid. Remembering the night he had first gotten together with Sherri and Kevin to plan this, Mac could clearly recall Kevin watching the news.

"_OK, so if we jam the computer and phones, that will make sure no one can send an alarm to the police," Mac explained to Sherri as she nodded in understanding. _

_Sherri was about to say something when a commercial interrupted her. "Damn it, Kevin – why do you need that to be so loud?"_

"_It wasn't," Kevin said defensively. "They turn up the volume on commercials."_

"_What are you so fascinated by, anyhow?" Mac asked, curious what had held his scatter-brained friend's attention for almost an hour._

"_Jeff Tracy's kid," Kevin said absently as he pulled out a beer from the fridge before returning to his seat on the couch._

"_What – did one find the cure for cancer?" Sherri asked derisively as she tossed the copy of People towards the couch._

"_No, I don't think so," Kevin said blankly as he thumbed through the magazine. Finding what he was looking for he pointed at a picture. "The news says that kid is missing."_

_Getting up, Mac took the magazine in hand to look at the picture. "Kevin, this picture is more than a decade old. No one knows what Alan Tracy looks like now because the family won't let pictures be published of him. His father says he wants the kid to have some privacy." _

_Looking back up, he frowned. "So Jeff Tracy's youngest kid is missing?"_

"_Yeah," Kevin nodded in excitement. "They don't know if he's been kidnapped, or what. Just went missing from some private school in New England."_

_Sherri scoffed. "Spoiled little bastard probably ran away because he wasn't getting his way."_

"_Nah," Kevin said. "The leaks coming out said he was a good student, popular and athletic, and got along well with everyone. They also say his family has all rushed to the States from their private tropical island. Wow, must be cool to have your own island. Think we can buy an island?"_

"_Not likely," Sherri grumbled. "But at least we won't be stuck in these dead-end jobs. We can start fresh."_

_Just then a reporter came back on, looking excited. The trio listened in varying degrees of interest to the update that Alan Tracy had been found and was being rushed to a local trauma center. According to unofficial sources, it looked like someone had run the teenager down while the boy was out at night in one of the more remote sections of the private school's sprawling campus. The reporter promised an update as soon as word became available._

"_Fine," Sherri snapped. "They found the poor little rich boy. Now let's get back to work." Snapping off the television, she stalked back over to the table where their notes were spread out._

_Motioning with his head, Mac encouraged Kevin to join them. Frankly, Sherri scared him, and Mac didn't want to piss her off any further. Alan Tracy was put out of their minds as they began to plan once more…_

Breathing deeply, Mac thought about the kid out there and hoped that he could stop Sherri from hurting him. Alan Tracy really was worth more to them alive than dead but more than that, he was a kid who had suffered more in his life than anyone should. Not to mention, if anything were to happen to a Tracy son, Mac suspected people would be lining up around the corner to push the plunger of the needle in retribution.

Alan wasn't the only person Mac wanted to get out of this alive.

Turning from the storage area, Mac began to carefully explore the rest of the room. He was almost done when he realized that a few boxes and other items had been moved. "OK, kid," Mac muttered. "What did you find?"

"Hey Mac-Daddy," Kevin cheerfully said as he came into the room. "Find anything?"

"I think so," Mac groaned as he moved some of the boxes. "And don't call me Mac-Daddy. It makes me sound like either a pimp or a rejected fast food sandwich."

Moving some more junk, Mac grinned as he pulled open the door he uncovered, partially hidden by it's very design.

Pointing to the sign on the door reading "Emergency Exit Only, Authorized Access Only, Alarm will sound if opened", Kevin asked, "Guess the sign is wrong, huh?"

Mac barely restrained a groan when he answered. "Or we blocked the alarm system, you idiot." Looking through the door, Mac nodded. It was a door to the Water and Power system access, and ran through to the city sewage system.

"This will be perfect," Mac said with a grin. "We've got our escape route if we have to."

Heading back into the main part of the bank, Mac was sighing in relief. Maybe things would work out alright after all…

* * *

Daria came back to the heart of the command post, seeing Jeff Tracy hug an athletic young man and a delicate blonde woman. Approaching the group, she recognized Gordon Tracy from the last Summer Olympics but the woman was a stranger. Pausing behind them, Daria waited to be introduced.

Looking up, Jeff saw Agent Delgado in front of him. With a small smile, he acknowledged her with a nod, even as he continued to hold onto the pair who had joined him.

"Gordon, Emily – this is the FBI agent in charge, Supervisory Special Agent Daria Delgado. Agent Delgado, this is my son, Gordon, and John's girlfriend, Dr. Emily Haas."

Examining Emily closely, Daria thought that this was the kind of girl she had despised in high school. The other woman was tiny, blonde and beautiful. But then Daria saw the intelligence shining in the dark blue eyes and recalled what Jeff had called her.

"Dr. Haas? Are you a resident at a hospital here in New York?"

Emily chuckled lightly. "No. I am a New York native but I did my internship at Mass General in Boston and my residency at Cedar-Sinai in Los Angeles. I'm now on staff at Mercy General in Auckland, New Zealand."

"You seem awfully young for that," Daria said with a doubtful look on her face.

Grinning, Gordon spoke up. "Our Emily was a child prodigy. She could write a prescription before she could have a drink."

Eying the pair, Daria shook her head before addressing Jeff. "You do know your family takes over-achieving to a whole new level, right?"

Jeff just smiled and shrugged. "They're Tracys."

Daria wasn't the only who noticed how happy Emily was to be included in that title.

"Dad," Gordon spoke up, "not to change the subject or anything, but the guys – What is happening?"

Jeff sat down, pulling Gordon and Emily with him into seats at the central table.

"OK, first thing you need to know – the robbers have discovered who the boys are. Someone leaked that Alan and John are in the bank. Which is why in addition to the million dollars the bank is being extorted for, they are demanding a ten million dollar ransom the boys."

Emily and Gordon both looked shaken with Emily recovering first.

"Do we know if they are hurt at all?" the doctor asked.

"According to Casey," Jeff said, "there are some bumps and bruises, but nothing serious."

"Casey?"

Jeff patted Emily's hand. "Casey Patrick. Her father works for me and she was working in the bank when the robbery occurred. She tried to get Alan hidden but -"

"But Alan wouldn't stay put," Gordon injected.

"To put it mildly," Jeff acknowledged. "But in Alan's defense, apparently another hostage had mentioned Alan was in the bank and at the time one of the gunmen was threatening John. Alan only revealed his presence to save John's life."

"How do you know all this?" Emily asked in confusion.

"Casey and Carl are at the hospital," Ann-Marie said as she rejoined the group, holding up her cell phone. "Carl says Casey will need surgery but they feel she is stable and are confident that she'll make a full recovery."

"Well, thank God for that," Jeff sighed as he sat down. Looking up at Emily, he explained.

"Casey was in the bank but was released due to her injuries."

"So they're releasing hostages?" Gordon asked hopefully.

"We think they were about to release Alan," Jeff said sadly, "when a reporter announced that your brothers were in the bank."

"And there's no way they would let go of a chance to make a fast buck, right?" Gordon said bitterly.

"Did they release anyone else or indicate they would release anyone else?" Emily asked.

Jeff looked over to where Marie was being interviewed further by another agent. "She was released. She's – she's Barry Shaheen's mother."

"What?" Gordon yelped, drawing everyone's attention. "My brothers are still in there, still in danger, and the mother of that son of a -"

"Gordon!" Jeff said firmly, stopping his son in his tracks. "Watch your language. I won't have any son of mine acting in a manner which would shame your mother or I, do I make myself clear?"

Glancing over at a shaken Marie Shaheen, Emily bit back her own words. Part of her wanted to rage at the woman as well, but her family was no prize either.

"Excuse me?" Jacob Moehler grumbled as he stormed out, followed by a fuming Agent Sanders.

"Yes?" Daria snapped in annoyance.

"How much longer am – am I -"

Moehler's voice trailed off as he stared at Emily.

"I know you."

* * *

Mac jogged back out to the main part of the bank, heading directly to Sherri.

"Sher," he whispered loudly.

Sherri turned from where she had been engaged in her new favorite past-time – staring daggers at the Tracys – and muttered, "What?"

"There's a back exit," Mac said excitedly. "It's an entrance for the access tunnels for the utility companies."

"So?" Sherri began to dismiss him until Mac continued.

"Which means we could leave the bank and head anywhere in the city, at least if we were willing to cut through the sewer tunnels for outside of the immediate area."

"Show me," Sherri responded before looking at Kevin. "Kev – cover these guys."

Entering the break room, Mac showed Sherri the access door. Walking through, she looked in confusion at the door.

"From this side, it's a lot harder to get in."

"Security feature," Mac explained. "This allows people from the buildings to limit access. You both have to be let into the building to access the tunnels from the building and you need to have correct security to enter the building from the tunnels."

"So how would we get into another building?" Sherri asked.

"You would have to be keyed into the building or someone from the inside would have to let you in."

"Both of the Tracy brothers should have access to the Tracy Towers, right?"

Mac looked confused. "Well, John Tracy – probably. He works for his father. Not sure about Alan Tracy."

"Well," Sherri said firmly, "if he doesn't, I bet he can get someone to let us in. If we can't walk out the main doors, we'll come through here."

"But Tracy Towers is being used by the FBI as its command post," Mac protested.

"C'mon, Mac," Sherri laughed derisively. "You know all those "life styles of the disgustingly rich and think they are so freakin' fabulous" have private access – heli-pads, elevators, secret passageways. If Jeff Tracy knows we have his kid – or sons, if we take the older guy as well – he'll make sure no one sees us."

Mac followed Sherri back out. He hoped no one messed up their exit from the bank, because frankly, Sherri's back up plan scared the hell out of him.

* * *

"I know you," Jacob Moehler said as he stared at Emily before snapping his fingers. "Of course, Roddy's sister."

"Roddy?" Gordon whispered mockingly.

"Roderick Haas," Jacob explained, looking down his nose at Gordon. "An old chum of mine from my undergrad days at Columbia University. I'm sure you don't know the significance of the name -"

"No," Emily said. "The Tracys have never cared much about the so-called "high society" of New York. And you might want to speak with Susan Haas. She'll tell you she doesn't have a daughter."

"Of course she does," Jacob chuckled in a manner that annoyed Emily to no end. "Roddy said you were a bit of a bookworm but," he looked her up and down in an appraising manner, "you certainly are a nice little package. Your brother suggested we get together when you come back to civilization."

"Update your Facebook page, loser," Emily scoffed. "And let me guess – the investment banker? Susan said if I didn't like what's-his-name, Mr. Junior Law Firm Partner, her son knew an investment banker looking for a wife with proper pedigree. Well, as of yesterday, I have been disowned by the Haas family so I guess I shouldn't be laying claim to being a member of the New York Four Hundred. Then again, I was working in an ER putting together victims from a subway crash instead of putting on the white gloves and gown for the debutant ball – a slight Susan has never forgiven me for."

"And," Emily continued contemptuously, "I am NOT moving back to New York, I like the South Pacific. Not that I consider Auckland to be anything but civilized. It may be more civilized that New York society, in my opinion."

"Your mother disowned you?" Jeff asked with a frown. "What on Earth for?"

"After her last command for me to return to "civilization", I told her – through Mr. Junior Law Partner – that I had met someone. That he was a writer who lived with his family on a small island and that we loved looking at the stars together."

"You totally skipped the part about him being one of my sons and being a world-famous astronomy author, didn't you?" Jeff chuckled.

Emily shrugged. "I included what was important. Susan said to drop my "misalliance" of consider myself disowned. She even included the paperwork. I told her to go ahead and had my lawyer send some paperwork of my own. As of yesterday, I'm officially disowned, no longer to be considered the daughter of Gerald and Susan Haas or the sister of Roderick Haas. No big loss."

"I'm sure Mrs. Haas will reconsider," Jacob said smoothly. "Once she discovers who you are dating -"

"Susan Haas hasn't approved of me since the day I was born," Emily said angrily. "And I'm dating John, not his father. She will NOT use me to gain a social connection with the Tracys. As far as I am concerned, the only family I have in New York is either in this building or over in that bank. And if Susan tries anything, remind her that the paperwork I had her sign bars her from any access to me or any children I might have."

Jacob tried to argue only to be dragged back into the room by Agent Sanders.

Emily turned back to see Daria, Gordon and Jeff staring at her in varying of admiration.

"If you ever consider giving up medicine," Daria finally said, "_please _consider joining the Bureau."

"No way," Jeff said with a genuine smile, one of the few he had had since this mess had begun. "She's marrying my son, she'll work for me."

Emily grinned. "Sorry to both of you. I'm never giving up medicine although I am considering the Tracy clinic idea. And I'm also too vertically challenged to join the bureau."

Daria sighed. Unfortunately, that was true. Dr. Haas would never meet the Bureau's height requirement.

Gordon just laughed. "Now I can see how you booby-trapped my prank, Em. I have to say, I don't know whether to envy or pity my brother."

Jeff just smiled. He knew the answer to that. Emily really was a lot like Lucy.

* * *

Kevin stood near the door, watching Sarah edge towards the door to pull in the two gym bags, one slightly larger than the other, and was excited to see the bulges, knowing that meant the money was there, waiting for them.

Sarah looked behind her, past Kevin with his bobbing weapon, to see John being held at bay as much by Mac's gun pointed at him as he was by Sherri holding Alan, the muzzle of her firearm bruising Alan's throat from the pressure being applied. Chewing her lip, Sarah found herself praying for a miracle. She had no idea what to do. But no matter what happened to her, Sarah was determined to be there for her family.

* * *

Ana Nevada had snuck through the emergency personnel, partially guided by Hendrickson. The NYPD detective glared at the journalist before assuming a position nearby.

"Keep hidden," Hendrickson hissed.

"Don't worry," the journalist said as she crouched down behind a barrier, a small camera in hand. Gesturing with the device, Ana looked at the cop. "You just be sure and get me some good footage."

"Don't worry," Hendrickson whispered harshly, "I will be the one everyone will be talking about."

Edging closer to the front of the bank, Hendrickson carefully raised his weapon and took aim…

* * *

**_A/N - OK, now next few weeks may be crazy. So - as soon as I can, I promise. ~ CC_**


	20. Chapter 20

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

**Disclaimer - Do not own Thunderbirds. Professionals have to meet deadlines. I - as you have guessed - don't.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

Marie Shaheen looked over at the gathered Tracys – well, two Tracys and a young blonde woman. From what she could overhear, the woman was John Tracy's girlfriend. Marie could easily believe that. The woman had the kind of classic beauty and elegance that was the product of years of selective breeding.

Shortly after the man who had been brought in earlier – Marie never caught a name or what he had to do with the robbery – Gordon Tracy, who she recognized from the Olympics, and the woman arrived. No sooner had they been welcomed by Jeff Tracy then the man had emerged from a side room and begun to demand attention. He reminded Marie of her children –

When they were two.

Sighing, Marie realized Barry was still like that. Spoiled and self-centered, Marie still wondered where she had gone wrong with that boy.

Pulling herself from her depression and ignoring the pain in her left arm, Marie focused on the confrontation between the woman – who had now been identified as Dr. Emily Haas, and the other man. It was obvious that Dr. Haas was from a high-society family but apparently there was no love lost between her and her mother. Marie couldn't help but suspect that most of the problems started with the mother in that case. Over the years of working in financial circles, Marie had met parents who saw their children as nothing more than proof of their own accomplishments. Apparently, Emily Haas wanted more to life than being pretty and popular. Her career choice indicated she was a person who wanted to make a difference in the world. Seeing the love being shown her by people who were not biologically related but still considered her to be their family was heartwarming,

Marie took a deep breath. Or at least, she tried to. A heavy weight had settled on her chest and just wouldn't seem to go away.

* * *

Daria looked over at the Tracys, now sitting quietly and talking among themselves. The only time the three seemed to react was when the two gym bags filled with the eleven million dollars were prepped and handed over to a NYPD officer who had volunteered to walk up to the bank doors and hand over the ransom.

It went against Daria's instincts to hand over the money. But the FBI had a policy to follow the wishes of the family members or companies involved. And since both the Tracys and Metro Union were willing to pay up, there was nothing she could do.

Looking around, the agent wondered where that dill-weed Hendrickson had disappeared to. Frankly, she felt she couldn't trust him any further than she could throw him. Although – Daria could think of a few things she would like to throw him through. Or into. Or off of. The possibilities were endless. And, sadly, illegal.

Taking a deep breath, Daria began to move towards the Tracys when she heard a uniformed officer's voice over the low murmur of those gathered in the lobby.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, are you alright?"

Turning, Daria glanced over towards the voice only to sprint when Marie Shaheen collapsed into the officer's arms.

Jeff, Gordon and Emily looked up at the same time as Daria when they heard the officer's voice. When Mrs. Shaheen dropped like a stone into the waiting arms of the uniformed police officer, all three leapt to their feet.

Emily had grabbed her bag from where Ann-Marie had set it and immediately began to examine the stricken woman. Laying fingers at the woman's throat, she cursed lightly as she yanked out her stethoscope and some other diagnostic equipment.

"Emily?" Jeff asked as he knelt at the other side of Marie, watching carefully as Emily yanked open the collar of the blouse Marie was wearing.

"M.I.," Emily stated bluntly as she began to treat the other woman. Glancing up at her future father-in-law, she half joked, "You wouldn't happen to have a portable defibulator handy, would you?"

Before Jeff could respond, Gordon answered. "Got it!" and ran towards the back of the lobby.

Emily and Jeff had already begun CPR, Jeff performing compressions while Emily breathed and checked Marie's vitals. They still had not seen any improvement when Gordon ran back in carrying a small case.

With expert motions, Gordon pulled out the paddles and attached the pads to Marie's chest. Emily grabbed the paddles from him and called out, "Clear!" It took three shocks, but after the third try Emily looked at the small monitor she had attached to the patient earlier.

"She's in sinus rhythm," Emily sighed. Looking over at Daria, she nodded. "She needs to be transported STAT to…" Thinking for a moment, Emily nodded again. "New York Presbyterian. It's the closest facility with a good Cardiac Intensive Care Unit."

"I already called for paramedics," the agent said only to have that become fact as two new paramedics entered the lobby. The newcomers immediately began to prepare their patient for transport, listening carefully as Emily gave history and instructions. Trained to follow doctors' instructions, the medics were silently impressed by the composed young woman.

As they loaded Marie onto the stretcher, the first medic asked, "Hey, Doc – where'd you get your training?"

"I was part of the Harvard-Mass General Co-op," Emily said softly.

"Whoa," the first medic said with a grin.

"What?" asked his partner even as he continued to ready Marie for transport.

"The Harvard-Mass General Co-op, remember? Woody told us about it. Every year, at the start of the multi-year program, one hundred go in -"

"And there are years none come out," the second finished with a nod. Looking over at Emily, he grinned. "So I take it you're not good; you're _damn good._"

Emily merely smiled and shrugged, before noticing Marie had begun to rouse.

"Mrs, Sheehan?" When Marie nodded, Emily continued. "You collapsed, probably from the stress. These men will take you to the hospital. They'll take good care of you there."

Behind the oxygen mask that had been placed over her face, Marie nodded and mouthed "thank you" before the paramedics hurried her from the building.

Emily was putting her medical bag back together with the Tracys help when she sensed someone watching her. Looking up, she saw Daria looking at her strangely. Returning the gaze with a questioning look of her own, Emily waited for Daria to say something.

"OK," Daria said slowly. "One, why didn't you tell her she had a heart attack?"

Shaking her head, Emily softly said, "She didn't need the stress. The doctors at the hospital will tell her, once she is being monitored and has proper care available."

"Fine," Daria said, before turning to Jeff and Gordon. "But what gives? She was the mother of someone who hurt your family. I can understand why Dr. Haas would, but – and how did you two know what to do anyhow?"

Jeff shrugged before answering. "We live on an island. All of the family have basic medic training. And, well – I wouldn't hire Mrs. Shaheen, but I also wouldn't watch her die. She didn't hurt Alan; her son did." With a small smile, Jeff took Emily by the arm and walked her back over to where they had been before.

Raising an eyebrow, Daria muttered, "And if it was her son?"

Gordon, having finished packing up the portable defib unit, stood with it in hand. Daria almost took a step back at the furious look on his face.

"I wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire," Gordon said, fury clear in every word.

When Gordon stalked off, Daria muttered, "And I repeat – Never piss off a Tracy."

Turning from the Tracys, Daria snagged a passing NYPD officer. "Where's Hendrickson?"

The officer shrugged. "Not sure. He wasn't getting anywhere with his ranting or posturing, and – he -"

When the man trailed off, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance. Daria turned, trying to see what he was looking at.

"No freakin' way," Daria grumbled, heading to the glass doors and standing in the doorway.

Sanders had re-joined the other law enforcement in the lobby and headed straight for Daria.

"What's up?" Sanders asked.

"OK, remember I insisted no law enforcement within a certain range."

"Yeah," Sanders agreed. "No one except the cop dropping off the ransom – lessens the chances of someone playing cowboy."

"Well, look who decided to be Wyatt Earp," Daria sniped, waving her arm.

"Yeah, well, ok," Sanders said, "maybe he won't cause any -"

The two agents watched in dismay as the NYPD detective raised his weapon, aiming at the doorway where Woody, the officer with the cash and the shadow of one of the gunmen inside the bank all stood. But the agents were painfully aware that from Hendrickson's position, he could hit any one of the three –

* * *

Sarah barely had set her hands on the two gym bags and begun to pull away from the NYPD officer who was performing the hand-off when the smell of lilacs overwhelmed her senses. She could feel a hand on her back making a pushing motion but a quick glance over her shoulder assured Sarah that Kevin was too far behind her to have touched her. Instinct overtook reason and Sarah fell into a crouch to head back into the bank.

Kevin reached out a hand and grabbed Sarah by the arm, prepared to pull her – and more importantly, the money – into the building. He had barely grabbed her left elbow when a shot rang out, hitting the glass door inches from Sarah's head, with glass rocketing loose from the frame due to the impact. Raising his weapon, Kevin pointed and fired towards the assembled law enforcement officers. Another shot rang out, hitting Kevin in the chest and causing him to fall back into the bank.

Pulled forward by the hand still grasping her left arm, Sarah fell on top of Kevin as they landed in the bank lobby. From outside, mainly via the gaping hole now in the glass door of the building, Sarah could hear raised voices and a general sense of confusion.

Sherri stalked over, yanking Sarah off. "Well?" Sherri screamed. "Do something!"

Looking up, Sarah addressed the one reasonable gunman. "Please – I need my equipment."

Mac gathered up what the paramedics had brought into the bank and carried it over to her.

Watching carefully, both Tracys were about to offer to help but a quick shake from Sarah's head made them realize that wouldn't be a prudent idea. The last thing that was needed was for the leader to blame them for anything else they hadn't done in the first place.

"How bad is it?" Mac asked as he set Sarah's supplies next to her.

Sighing, Sarah sat back before grabbing a wipe and cleaning off her blood soaked hands.

"He's gone," Sarah responded softly, looking over at Mac and somewhat surprised to see the tears that had gathered in his eyes.

"Dammit, Kev," Mac muttered tearfully. "We aren't in high school anymore. You can't be the hotheaded jock and expect to get out of life ok."

"I'm sorry," Sarah said, in her most gentle voice. "Were you old friends?"

"Since junior high," Mac said. "He was never the brightest bulb on the tree, but he was a good friend."

Reaching down and grabbing the now blood-splattered bags from the floor near Kevin's body, Sherri hissed, "Come on. There's no way I'm heading out that way to be slaughtered. It's the time to take plan B." Lowering her voice, Sherri looked at Mac, ignoring Sarah.

"I'll grab the kid; he's all we need at this point. The brother will just slow us down."

"You leave Allie alone," Sarah bit out angrily jumping up and heading towards Sherri.

Instinctively, Sherri swung the butt of her gun and connected with Sarah's head, causing the other woman to drop to the ground. Not bothering to check on Sarah, Sherri dashed over towards Alan even as she tossed the gym bags at Mac. Grabbing Alan by the arm, Sherri pulled him back, her left arm around his shoulders and her right hand pointing the muzzle at Alan's forehead.

"OK, the next person to play hero dies right along with the kid. I got any takers?"

* * *

Emily looked up from her conversation with Jeff and Gordon, becoming alarmed when Agents Delgado and Sanders moved to the doors of the lobby. The action itself didn't concern Emily as much as the expressions on their faces: Delgado looked furious and Sanders was clearly dismayed.

Before Emily could say anything to the Tracys about her fears, the report of gunfire echoed through the open doors. Jumping to her feet, Emily dashed over to the exit, anxious to do something – although she was unsure exactly what she would have done had she been able to reach the bank.

Reaching the doorway, Emily felt strong arms encircle her, bringing her mission to a halt.

"Dr. Haas," Daria said firmly. "We can't let you go over there."

"I thought the situation was under control," Gordon spat out from where another agent was holding him back, Jeff similarly restrained by a NYPD officer.

As Daria grabbed Emily by the arms, allowing Sanders to release her, the agent nodded at his superior.

"I'll go rein in the cowboy," he grimaced as he left the building.

Daria turned back to Emily and the Tracys. "I need you to calm down and take back your seats. I can't do my job and baby-sit you." Emily's glower didn't affect the agent as she shrugged.

Even as the Tracys backed off – if not sitting back down – Greg Sanders returned with a sputtering Hendrickson, backed up by the equally pissed off NYPD officer who had been handing over the ransom.

"Why are they dragging you in here?" the officer was yelling. "That's easy, you a-hole! You could have shot me, that paramedic, anyone. I'd say we are lucky you only hit the suspect but we have no idea what that will do to the status of the hostages in the bank."

"You watch it," Hendrickson snarled. "I'm your superior officer."

"No," the cop retorted. "Merely a higher ranking one. And when this is over, I doubt even that. Then again, crap does float to the top."

"Not this time," Daria said calmly. "Greg, put this idiot in with the other idiot. Then come back out and suit up." Turning to the cop, she nodded. "Will you keep an eye on them? I'm gonna need my men and a couple NYPD to head straight into the bank. Our timer has run out."

"Sure Agent Delgado," the cop nodded before following Sanders over to the room.

"You're going to rush the bank?" Jeff asked.

"We have no choice," Daria said even as she pulled on a bullet proof vest that was handed to her. Moving over to cases of supplies, she secured an earpiece so she could communicate with anyone with her before grabbing a semi-automatic rifle which she handed to Sanders as he rejoined her.

Looking back over to the Tracys she nodded, before organizing the team she had pre-selected as a "just in case". The worst case scenario wasn't one anyone wanted, but it was the one you had to be prepared for.

Checking her weapon quickly, Daria nodded again, heading out the door, followed by five other agents and two NYPD.

As they left, Jeff felt his heart enter his throat and refuse to leave. _"Please, Lucy – be with our boys. We need them back."_

* * *

John's heart leapt to his throat and threatened to choke him when first Sarah fell to the ground and then Alan was being held with a gun to his head. He relaxed slightly when he saw Sarah move in a dazed fashion. The blood on her face, as she raised her head slightly, concerned John but as a Thunderbird he knew that head wounds bled easily.

Sherri felt the situation spiraling out of control. But as she held the younger Tracy brother close, pressing her weapon to his skull, Sherri comforted herself with the idea that soon she would be free – free with money to burn.

"Come on, Mac," Sherri called. "We'll head out the other way. The cops are sure to be moving in any second now."

Mac looked sadly at his dead friend before reaching up and pulling off his mask. "No," he said firmly. "No, Sherri – it ends here. No one was supposed to get hurt. You swore no one would get hurt. Now two people are dead and Kevin is one of them! Let the kid go."

"No way," Sherri spat. "We got eleven million dollars! We head out the back and we'll be set. And the kid will keep the cops away. He's our ticket to freedom."

"The kid's not a ticket," Mac said sadly. "He's just a kid. He's somebody's brother, somebody's son. He's important to the people who love him. My family's going to be hurt by this. I won't let you hurt another family."

Taking a step forward, Mac moved towards Alan and Sherri. "Now, let him go," Mac said firmly.

"If you really feel that way," Sherri said calmly as she pulled the muzzle from Alan's head.

Mac breathed a sigh of relief and took another step towards Alan only to drop when Sherri suddenly pointed at Mac and fired. With a cry of pain, Mac fell to the ground, clutching his right leg as blood poured from the wound.

"You want to be the martyr?" Sherri hissed. "Fine. Stay here and let the cops get you. I'm outta here."

"Not with my little brother," John growled. Moving towards the pair, John's share of the Tracy temper was showing when he spat out, "Hand over my brother and get the hell out of here with your blood money."

The sound of the gun fire echoed endlessly in the bank but was painfully loud to Alan with the weapon firing so close to his ear. But any personal pain faded instantly when his older brother collapsed, blood trailing from John's temple.

"JOHN!" Alan screamed even as Sherri once more held him tightly, the now-hot muzzle of her weapon burning the tender skin under his chin.

"C'mon, kid," Sherri hissed. "We're gonna go out the back and no one else has to die. Or I'll kill the other hostages and your brother will still be dead."

In shock, Alan barely nodded before Sherri dragged him into the break room, forcing Alan to open the partially hidden door which she then pulled him through. But even as the door shut behind them, Alan let a tear track down his face, his heart breaking as the image of John lying so still on the floor of the bank.

* * *

_**CC - OK, so I'm sorry this was a bit late, but was it worth it-**_

_**Alan - Worth it? You shot John! You knocked out Sarah. And now I am being a wimp while someone takes me hostage. AGAIN!**_

_**CC - Now, Alan - no death fics. And you are in shock. So different.**_

_**Alan - OK, and what is your excuse for being late?**_

_**CC (shrugs) - I had my excuses.**_

_**Alan - What? The two jobs? Your daughter's birthday? General crappy feeling - aka sick since September?**_

_**John rushes in, brushes back his hair and sits. **_

_**CC - Alan, you are too young. *smirks at John* So, how's Sam1?**_

_**John (blushes) She says to say hi and thanks for the chance to say goodbye.**_

_**CC - No problem. Sam1 has had a rough couple of days. Figured she could use a quick grope, I mean, some one and one time with you.**_

_**Alan (looks between John and CC?) Do I wanna know.**_

_**NO! Both yelled leaving Alan baffled. **_

_**CC - Um, gluten free swet potato pie? G'night folks.**_


	21. Chapter 21

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - If I owned Thunderbirds, I wouldn't have to go to the freakin' office Christmas Party tonight so I can get hold of my Christmas bonus just so I can get my presents off of layaway.**_

* * *

**Chapter 21**

"John! Damn it, John Glenn Tracy – if you are dead, I swear to God I will study necromancy, bring you back and kill you all over again!"

"Sarah Jane?" John murmured, raising his head slightly as he opened his eyes, only to shut them again against the light.

From a few feet away, Sarah sighed in relief, only to freeze when John sat fully upright.

"Alan!" John cried out, as the last memory of his youngest brother being held at gunpoint by a woman who had shown that she had no scruples or respect for human life flashed into his mind.

John struggled to stand upright, nausea almost knocking him flat on his behind but with iron will he pushed it down. He'd take the time to feel like yesterday's puppy chow later. Right now, he had to protect Alan.

Looking around, John saw the dead body of the one bank robber near the door and Sarah Jane, with blood still on her own face, pressing down the second robber's abandoned mask onto his leg. Moving over to the pair, John nodded at Sarah.

"I'm ok," he groaned when vertigo threatened to knock him down.

Sarah looked doubtful, but was in no place to argue with him.

"Sherri took your brother," Mac groaned, in obvious pain. "I'm sorry, man. This should have never gone so far. I just – I just wanted a fresh start, for me and for Kevin." He looked over at his friend's body, his grief clear. "Kevin was never too bright, but he was – well, he wasn't all bad. He lost his scholarship when he blew out his knee Freshman year of college. And the dot com company I worked for went belly up. I ended up taking a next to nothing job working for the bank's IT department. We just wanted a fresh start. No one was supposed to get hurt."

Sarah glanced up at John. "The FBI will probably force their way in sometime in the next few minutes. But it looks like the bullet shattered his thigh bone. If I let go, he'll be dead before they get here."

"And if I let that bitch get too big a head start, Alan could be dead soon," John said angrily.

Mac sighed, holding out his weapon to John. "She's taking him through the access tunnels. There's a door in the break room. Her goal is to get to Tracy Towers and force your father to help her escape."

John nodded. "I know the tunnels a bit. Alan and Gordon used to like to play hide and seek in them." Grabbing the weapon, John gently laid a hand on Sarah's shoulder.

"If you see Dad before I do, tell him -" John trailed off, unsure of what to say before he gave a small smile.

"Tell him I invited you to dinner. We'll have a lot to catch up on."

Sarah watched as John ran out the back, determined to save his brother.

"OK," Mac interrupted her musing, puzzled by the small smile on her face. "Is he for real?"

"Nope," Sarah Jane Woodbury grinned. "He's a Tracy."

* * *

"Alan!" Scott gasped as he woke from a light doze.

"Scott?" Onaha looked up from where she had been setting up a light meal for Virgil.

"Onaha?" Scott asked in confusion. He looked around before he questioned, "Virg?"

"Right here, Scotty," Virgil said as he re-entered the room. Seeing the panicky look on his brother's face, the middle Tracy son immediately came to his side.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he gently pushed Scott back down.

Scott reluctantly lay back against the pillow. "Alan. He's in trouble. He needs me."

Virgil shook his head. "You can't know that. And if he is, John will take care of it. Or Gordon. Or Dad. You are hurt and too far away to do anything."

Starting to drift back off to sleep, Scott muttered, "You didn't say anything about Emily," before his exhaustion reclaimed him.

Pulling up the blanket Scott had dislodged, Virgil smiled over at Onaha. "Because I would be worried about anyone who pissed off that little girl – she is serious kick-ass material."

Nodding, Onaha gestured towards the food before leaving the room, running into her husband as he had come in search of her.

"Did you hear that?" Onaha asked. When Kyrano nodded, his wife gave an uncharacteristic snort.

"Emily – sweet and gentle as she is – would have to be kick-ass to survive with this family."

Kyrano merely nodded again and watched his wife walk back towards the kitchen. Yes, Emily would have to be strong to become a Tracy. Thinking of his own daughter, the gentle man could only pray that if her relationship were to continue with the youngest Tracy son, Tin-Tin would show the same strength as Dr. Haas.

* * *

Sherri had long since pulled off her mask and was hurrying through the access tunnels. Being completely unfamiliar with them, she was quickly becoming confused, and had to backtrack several times. Glancing at the teenager she had taken as a hostage, Sherri was beginning to doubt the wisdom of her actions. The kid seemed to be in shock and if she hadn't been forcing him to move, she had no doubt he would fall in his tracks.

Alan knew they were moving along but the rest of the world seemed to have vanished in the white noise surrounding him. The pain from the thought of losing his older brother was overwhelming. The teenager almost hoped that the crazy woman holding onto his arm would kill him. It would be better than having to face his family and tell them that he was the reason John was dead.

"_Johnny," _Alan silently spoke to his brother, _"I'm so sorry. I wasn't worth it. You should have just let her take me."_

"_And did you let the Hood just kill us?"_

The deep fog Alan was in seemed to lift a bit as he heard Scott's voice.

"Scotty?" he whispered, ignoring the angry look Sherri gave him when he stumbled, making her slow for a moment.

"_I'm here, Sprout. All of us are with you always. We love you and we would never leave you. Remember that. Just as you were willing to die to save us, we would do whatever it takes – even at the cost of our own lives – to protect you. That's not just what a Thunderbird would do. It's what family would do."_

Reality began to merge Alan's mind with his surroundings once more, intentionally slowing whenever he could in a determination to consume as much time as he could. Stumbling once, Alan bumped into Sherri, intentionally knocking his phone from her pocket. Alan could only hope Brains could trace the GPS chip in the phone. Once the police made their way into the bank and discovered that they were gone, he prayed someone had the good sense to track the phone and lead them down here. This bitch had killed his brother and it was up to Alan to make sure she didn't get away with it. Screw the money. NO ONE hurt a Tracy without facing the music. And Alan was going to order the death march that would be played for psycho chick.

Stumbling once more, Alan winced in pain when Sherri roughly wrenched his arm.

"Listen you little bastard," Sherri hissed. "I can find another way out of here other than your Daddy. I'd be happy to put a bullet in your head and leave you for the rats."

"I'd be more worried about the gators in the sewers," Alan said flippantly as he tried to relax his injured arm.

"That's an urban legend," Sherri dismissed him.

"If you say so," Alan shrugged.

It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Alan noticed that Sherri was refusing to go anywhere near the access for the sewage lines.

* * *

Outside the bank, Daria made sure her team was ready before she called out over the radio, "Three, two, one – go, go, go!"

Once the doorway had been breached, law enforcement poured into the bank.

"Woody!" Daria said in relief, keeping her weapon at the ready even as she gave a quick visual check of her husband's temporary partner.

Sarah glanced up, nodding her acknowledgement. "There were three gunmen. One is dead," she gestured to Kevin's rapidly cooling corpse. "And this guy I need help with."

Mac gave Daria a half-hearted smile. "Michael McKenzie, Ma'am. Most people call me Mac. You can call me Idiot Number Three."

Daria raised an eyebrow. "Are you admitting to being one of the bank robbers?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Mac said wearily. "After Kevin was killed," he waived a hand towards Kevin, "I told Sherri I wanted to give up." Pointing to his leg, Mac continued.

"This was her response to me."

Agent Sanders jogged back over to Daria. "We have the other hostages over there, but no sign of the Tracy Brothers or the third gunman."

"Sherri went out through the utilities access door," Mac explained. "It's in the break room."

Sarah looked up from where she had been treating Mac's leg, one of the NYPD officers having pulled over her supplies and joining the paramedic in her efforts. Taking a deep breath, Sarah spoke up.

"That – that woman took Alan with her. But not before she shot this guy -"

"Mac," the injured man added.

Rolling her eyes slightly, Sarah continued. "Right, Mac. So she clubbed me, shot Mac, shot John -"

"What?" Daria asked in concern. "She shot John Tracy?"

"Yeah," Sarah said. "But that wasn't about to stop Johnny from heading after his brother."

"John Tracy was shot but he still followed an armed gunman – um, gun person – on his own?" Sanders asked in disbelief.

"Pretty much," Sarah conceded as she applied a pressure bandage and began to secure it to Mac's leg. The NYPD officer was announcing the all-clear and she knew at least one more team of paramedics were prepped to enter.

"He has my gun, though," Mac admitted. "So when he gives it back, it won't have my prints on it. But," he added, "it hasn't been fired."

"If it's the only way to get Alan back alive, it won't be unfired for long," Sarah said ruefully as another paramedic dropped down next to her and took over for Mac. That medic's partner was pulling Sarah to her feet and guiding her to a chair so that he could treat her injury.

"Great," Daria grumbled. Looking around she spotted two other FBI agents. "Anderson! Perrino! Secure the sight. Coyne? Get the hostages set up for interviews before their release. McKelvey? Get the media liaison to hold off for a bit. We don't have everything worked out. And once that's done, let the Tracy family know what is happening."

Confident everyone had a task, Daria nodded at Sanders. "Greg, I want you to accompany Mr. McKenzie here to the hospital. He's in protective custody until the crackpot is contained. Once we have Sherri-baby, I'll have NYPD take over. Sorry McKenzie," she shrugged at Mac. "We still have to bust you."

Mac sighed as the paramedic, with the help of the NYPD officer, was guided to a stretcher. "No, its fine, I suppose. My mom always said that Kevin never had a good idea in his life. And yes, I know my rights and I am waving them." Looking at Sanders, he gave a weak grin.

"You may want to write that down, dude," Mac joked.

Watching for a moment as one paramedic guided Sarah from the lobby and the stretcher moved out ahead of them; Daria took a deep breath before running towards the back of the bank. Hours of studying the floor plans had given her firm knowledge of where the break room was located. Quickly finding the open door, Daria was concerned about the smear of blood on the door but pushed any thoughts aside before heading through. She had to hurry and get there in time to save a life.

Which life -Alan Tracy's or Sherri Joyce's - was the only unanswered question at this time.

* * *

"What the hell is going on?" Emily groaned. Looking towards the door and seeing nothing, she strode forward. At barely five feet, Emily was far from physically intimidating. But you couldn't tell that by the way she stared down the FBI agent posted by the doorway.

"Let me go," she hissed when the man blocked Emily from leaving.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Haas," the agent said politely. "But Agent Delgado point blank said that you and both Tracys were to stay here."

Emily threw up her hands in frustration.

"I won't get hurt!"

"Frankly, Ma'am," the agent gave a small smile. "I think Agent Delgado is more afraid of you hurting one of the bank robbers."

Stepping back, Emily looked thoughtful. "Yes, I suppose I can see that." Shaking her head, she tried pleading this time.

"Please, I'm a doctor. I can help if anyone is hurt."

"Well," one of the paramedics from the bank said as he helped Sarah into the lobby. "Woody is refusing to go to the hospital, so maybe you can look her over. My partner is with one of the gunmen in the ambulance and the rest of the hostages are being checked over before being released."

Jeff had run over at this. "My sons? Are they all right? Where are they?"

"Yeah," Gordon said. "Where are my brothers? John and Alan – blonde hair, blue eyes, if something is gonna hit the fan, they are going to be front and center."

"They're still back there, Gordy," Sarah said softly, drawing the Tracys attention to her.

Jeff's eyes went wide. "Sarah Jane? Little Sarah Jane Woodbury?"

"Sarah Jane?" the paramedic snorted before seeing Sarah's death glare shot at him. "Um, I need to get back to my partner. We have to transfer a patient to the hospital." The man ran off as if the lobby was on fire, much to Sarah's mild amusement.

"No way!" Gordon exclaimed. "You can't be Sarah Jane! You're – well, you're kinda hot."

Sighing at the same time, Jeff and Sarah exchanged rueful looks.

"I see Gordon still says exactly what he is thinking," Sarah sighed once more.

Jeff gave a small smile before pulling Sarah into a light embrace.

"Alright," Emily spoke up. "I hate to ruin this tender moment but will someone fill in the newcomer – who is apparently yours truly?"

Gently leading Sarah to a chair while instructing Gordon to retrieve Emily's bag, Jeff began to explain, with occasional commentary from Sarah and Gordon, just what Sarah's relationship was to the Tracy family. In turn, Sarah described what happened in the bank from the moment she arrived up to the moment John took off after Alan and Sherri.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tracy," Sarah said tearfully. "I really did try and protect Alan."

"Honey," Jeff spoke softly, love for the girl many in Bailey had nicknamed _"the sixth Tracy"_ showing clearly in his face. "You saved Alan's life when he was barely a year old. No one in our hometown ever doubted how much you loved him. He'll be alright."

"I know," Sarah smiled. "He's a Tracy."

Emily threw up her hands in annoyance. "He's a fifteen year old boy! Why does this family seem to have so much difficulty with that fact?"

"Think of how much Alan has accomplished, Emily," Gordon tried to reason with her. "What normal fifteen year old has done that much? What had you done at fifteen?"

"College and part of med school," Emily snapped back.

"OK," Gordon sighed. "Let's get back to normal fifteen year olds."

"What would Tracys know about normal?" Sarah muttered in between winces as Emily placed three stitches in her scalp.

Emily grinned. "You really do know this family."

"Sarah saved Alan when he was given a marble to play with and he promptly put it in his mouth," Jeff said proudly. "Between Lucy, Scott and John, she pretty much was made an honorary Tracy from that day forward."

Remembering Jeff saying that Sarah had saved Alan when he was a one year old, Emily looked at him in dismay.

"What idiot would give a one year old a marble to play with?"

Sarah and Jeff pointedly looked at Gordon, who's face promptly went as red as his hair.

"Hey," he said defensively. "I was only six myself. And Virgil was there as well."

"Not the two brightest bulbs on the Tracy family tree," Sarah grinned. Patting the side of Gordon's face, she chuckled lightly. "But two of the cutest."

Emily made a slight "tsk" sound. "There isn't a bad looking Tracy in the bunch." A bright blush spread over her face as she groaned. "Oh, Lord – Don't tell me I said that out loud."

"You did," Sarah said ruefully. Standing, she put a comforting arm around Emily. "But seeing as you are about to become part of the family, it'll be forgiven." When Emily looked confused, Sarah continued.

"John couldn't stop talking about you and Alan said that you were "practically perfect" and that he couldn't wait until you two got married and had kids. He's under the mistaken impression that if there is a _baby_ baby in the family, people will stop thinking of him as a baby."

"He does know Scott will be old and gray and still think of him as our baby, right?" Jeff smiled.

"Yeah," Sarah said with an eye roll that had Gordon and Emily smiling. "Because you'd never think of Alan like that." Pushing her humor aside, Sarah felt her anxiety rise again.

"They're going to be alright, right Mr. Tracy," Sarah pleaded with him.

In response, Jeff pulled her back onto the sofa before drawing her into a hug. "Don't worry, Sarah Jane. Mrs. Tracy will be with her boys."

"Then it will be alright," Sarah smiled slightly as she reveled in the embrace from the man she had loved as a second father for years.

Emily and Gordon sat on either side of the pair, each of them touching the others, trying to draw strength from each other.

Because it _had _to all end alright. It just had to.

* * *

"Damn it!" Sherri screamed as she jerked Alan further down the series of tunnels. Turning, she roughly yanked Alan closer. Waving the gun towards him, Sherri yelled, "Where the hell do we go from here?"

"And I'm supposed to know how?" Alan snapped.

Breathing heavily, Sherri slammed Alan down to the ground, keeping her weapon trained on him while she looked at a grid she had spotted on the wall. Hoping it would show her how to get to the Tracy Towers, Sherri chewed on her lip as she tried to figure out where to go. Finally figuring out what she hoped was the right way to head, Sherri turned back to see Alan gingerly straighten his position while studying her carefully.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Sherri growled.

Smirking, Alan responded, "Just wondering who took your Kibble and Bits."

"Are you calling me a dog?" Sherri hissed.

"If the collar fits."

"You little bastard," Sherri screamed once more, reaching down to grab Alan and pull him up. Slamming him into the wall, she shoved the barrel of her weapon in his stomach. "Maybe your father will be down two sons instead of just the one."

"My family will nail you to the wall, you bitch," Alan screamed. "You're just like other idiots. You see the Tracys and you see dollar signs. Well, we are loyal to each other and there will be no place on Earth for you to hide. And if I can, I'll kill you myself!"

Raising her gun so that the muzzle was pressed beneath the teenager's chin, Sherri snarled, "You won't be able to do anything dead."

"Neither will you," said a familiar but unexpected voice.

Sherri and Alan both turned, Alan with joy and Sherri – well, not with any joy – at the sight of John Tracy standing less than ten feet away. Even with blood caked in his blonde hair and some smeared on his hand and face from where he had tried to wipe some away, there was no weakness or hesitance apparent in the man's stance. With the borrowed weapon in his hands, John raised it until he had Sherri firmly in his sight.

"Now I'll say this just once," John said in a voice as cold of as the space he often spent so much time in. "Get the hell away from my brother or you won't have to worry about the rest of my family. I'll kill you here and now."

Grabbing Alan quickly, Sherri quickly used him as a human shield. "I don't think so. Seems to me we have a bit of a stand off – so what are you going to do now, hero?"

"Any ideas, Johnny?" Alan asked with only the slightest tremor in his voice.

His stomach clenched in fear at the sight of the gun pressed once more to Alan's head, John was silent but praying desperately.

"_Um, Mom – I don't know if you have been paying attention, but a miracle would be good right about now."_

_

* * *

_

_**I warned some of you - three cliffies in a row...**_


	22. Chapter 22

**Alan and John Walk Into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Dislaimer - If I owned them, would I be saying - for the 22nd time this story alone - that I don't? That just wouldn't make sense.**_

* * *

**Chapter 22**

Daria ran through the tunnels, having to occasionally pause and check the map of the tunnels she had downloaded onto her smart phone. In the echoing silence of the seemingly never ending caverns, the sudden sound of the ring tone coming out of the device made the agent almost drop it.

Placing the phone to her ear, Daria crisply responded, "Delgado."

"_A-agent Del-Delgado, its P-Professor Hack-Hackebacker, um, Brains. I h-have a tr-tr-trace on A-Alan's phone. I-I'm s-sending it to y-your phone."_

"Um, thank you, Professor. But," Daria asked in confusion, "how did you get my number?"

Daria could almost hear the limited amusement in the scientist's voice. "S-Sorry, A-Agent Del-Delgado's – Hac-Hacker's C-Code of Honor."

It took Daria a moment to realize that the man had hung up on her. Giving a reluctant grin, she almost called him back to tell him – people like her and Kate Eppes had written the HCH. Literally. They had gotten bored one night while in training at Quantico and having discovered they were both hackers since high school, they had created a "Hackers' Code of Honor" which had somehow gone viral after they sent it to some friends. Kate may have been drawn into the FBI because of her father but Daria had been, um, encouraged after she had done some creative activities over the years via the world wide web, not getting caught until she was a senior at college.

Clicking on the incoming message, Daria downloaded the data and merged it with the map of the tunnels. To her relief, she realized that she was not all that far from the signal point. Drawing her weapon, but keeping in secured against her leg, Daria hurried towards where she hoped to find the Tracys and Sherri Joyce.

* * *

John was keeping his borrowed firearm raised, determined to keep the lunatic holding his brother in his sights.

"You might as well drop the weapon," Sherri snarled. "Before your baby brother here gets hurt."

"Yeah, right," John scoffed. "I give you half an inch, you'll give me a bullet to the head and God only know what you would do to Alan."

"He'd be fine," Sherri said dismissively.

"Fine?" Alan gasped – Sherri really did have a tight grasp on his throat. "A minute ago, you were saying you should kill me like you killed John."

"Really?" John glared. "Too bad for you that Tracys are damn hard to kill."

"But," Sherri growled again as she poked the gun under Alan's chin, "it's not impossible." Seeing John waiver, the woman smirked. "Seems to me we have a bit of a Mexican Standoff here."

"Not really," a new voice said. Daria emerged from the shadows, her sidearm at the ready and aimed at Sherri. "But then again, I always preferred pizza."

* * *

Virgil checked Scott again only to sigh and move over to the desk, his fingers lightly ghosting over the buttons for the vid-phone. He was tempted to call his father, but figured nothing would be worse than being asked if everything was alright when Jeff wasn't sure. Their father or brother would call them when they knew something.

Glancing back over at Scott, Virgil could only hope it would be before his oldest brother woke up.

Emily had returned to checking her messages and occasionally signing off on a report that had been forwarded to her while Jeff and Gordon paced the length of the lobby, throwing occasional glances to the doorway – whether in hope of the sight of the missing Tracys or in an attempt to get past the law enforcement officers guarding the doorway, was uncertain. After a while, Emily felt eyes on her and turned to where Sarah Woodbury had been made comfortable on the sofa that line the back wall.

"Are you in any pain?" Emily asked in concern, setting down her smart phone to check over her patient.

"Nah," Sarah dismissed. "This little bump? It's nothing."

"Most people wouldn't think that," Emily chided gently. "This isn't a pseudo machismo thing because of your occupation is it?"

Sarah gave a bittersweet smile. "Doctor Haas -"

"Emily," she was corrected quickly.

"Alright. Emily," Sarah amended. "You'll hear about this soon enough. But my parents and older sister were killed in a house fire. I suffered second and third degree burns, most of it from the chest up. Recovering from that was painful. In comparison, this is a paper cut."

"Paper cuts can really hurt," Emily mused. Trying to find a distraction, Emily began to question Sarah.

"So where were you treated? Who was the reconstructive surgeon?"

"Well," Sarah answered, "my aunt – my last blood relative – lived in Boston. So a lot of my care was at the Shriner's Hospital there."

"Good place," Emily nodded.

"And Doctor Dmytro did most of the work after the initial skin grafts," Sarah continued. "Lucky for me he was volunteering to help out at the hospital at the time."

"Wait," Emily interrupted. "Myles Dmytro?" When Sarah nodded, Emily shook her head. "I know him. He doesn't do charity work – he doesn't even take insurance. Myles Dmytro doesn't have to. There is a waiting list a mile long for his services and has been for years. He doesn't even go to patients; they have to come to him here in Manhattan. How on earth did you get -"

Emily broke off at the sight of the tear-filled green eyes now focused on a point over Emily's shoulder. Turning, she smiled softly when she saw Jeff standing near the security desk, talking to Ann-Marie.

"I never asked my aunt," Sarah finally said. "I just assumed…I should have known Mr. Tracy would still be looking out for me." Lightly touching her face, Sarah bent her head and took a shuddering breath before looking back to Emily.

"You know, under most circumstances, to have recovered to the point I did should have taken years. But because of the treatment I received – How can I ever repay him for this?"

Emily just smiled and took Sarah's hand. "You don't repay love. And they love you." Seeing Sarah's lightening expression, Emily's smile grew. "Welcome home, Sarah Jane Woodbury."

Sarah sighed and squeezed Emily's hand in return. The young doctor was right – she was home. Now if she could just get the rest of her family back, everything would be as close to perfect as life could get.

* * *

Sherri looked dismayed when she recognized the voice of the FBI agent who she had been speaking to for most of the day. Tightening her grip on Alan, she pressed the muzzle harder against the teenager's chin.

"I can blow his head off in half a heartbeat."

"And in the second half of that heartbeat," Daria said coldly, "I can put a bullet in your brain." Trying a new tactic, she relaxed and edged slight closer. When Sherri tightened her grip on Alan at the movement, Daria lowered her weapon slightly and spread her hands in a disarming manner.

"But neither of us wants that. You kill Alan – or I kill you – and I'm on desk duty, facing review. Even if it's proven to be righteous, it's a pain in the ass." Cocking her head slightly, Daria gave a small grin.

"Now, if that was your boss, I might be persuaded to look the other way while you off'd that SOB."

"How – how much did her tell you?" Sherri's voice wavered.

"He told me how his friend used you – how he used you," Daria said compassionately. "Get any working woman on your jury and a lawyer can get you a sweet deal. You'd still be facing time but Bedford Hills and not Death Row. And just think of the book you could write. Not to mention movie deals. But only if you are alive to tell your side of the story."

John kept his weapon raised and his face expressionless. But in his mind he knew that was wrong. New York had very strict laws in these cases – Sherri Joyce would never be allowed to profit from her crimes under victim protection statutes that existed.

"He told you about Bobby?" Sherri almost cried.

"Moehler told me all about it," Daria said softly. "How Prescott used you, how he dumped you for some Park Avenue Princess. And even how good ol' Jacob tried to hit on you, how he felt you should feel lucky to still be working for him."

"Bobby's great-great grandfather founded Metro-Union Bank, well, Union Bank before it merged with Metro Banks after the banking scandals twenty years ago," Sherri said. "The merge was the reason the Prescott's lost most of their money. They have a voting interest still. And they have shares that can't be sold – Bobby's Grandfather made sure of that after the mess his father and uncle had made of the bank. The shares are being held in trust for Bobby's first born son."

"So by robbing the bank, making Metro-Union look bad by losing a Treasury run, would be hurting your ex-boyfriend?" Daria asked.

"He was my fiancé," Sherri snapped. "I wouldn't have done all I did for him if he hadn't asked me to marry him," she cried. Steeling herself, Sherri glared.

"It wouldn't just hurt Bobby. His perfect little society wife is pregnant. I saw him showing off pictures of the ultrasound. What do you know? It's a boy," Sherri mocked.

"An incident like this could cause Metro-Union to lose the Treasury contract," Daria surmised. "And the bad press would cause the stocks to lose value."

"And wouldn't that be a great legacy?" Sherri sneered.

"But if you are dead, no trial," Daria reasoned. "And no one will know what the bastard did. Public humiliation is socially devastating to the rich."

"Is that true, rich guy?" Sherri hissed at John.

The blonde shrugged. "My family has never cared much for high society. Yes, we have money. But all of us work. What little free time we have, we prefer to spend with family and close friends."

"Doing what? Cruising the Caribbean?"

"We live in the South Pacific," Alan corrected. When everyone looked at him in disbelief, he wrinkled his nose. "What? She had the wrong ocean. And we don't go cruising."

"Alan's just a kid," Daria reasoned. "One with a father who is worried sick and four older brothers who love him. Let him go and I promise, things will go better for you."

A sudden clatter further down the tunnel caused them all to jump. Alan took advantage of Sherri's momentary distraction and pushed himself away from her. As he fell to the ground, the sound of gunfire filled the air.

_

* * *

_

A few minutes earlier…

Ana Nevada firmly believed that an opportunity ignored was an opportunity lost. When additional emergency personnel headed into the bank after the initial rescue party, Ana remained where she had been hidden after Hendrickson was hauled away. Looking around when the FBI stormed the bank, Ana grinned in triumph at the sight of Hendrickson's NYPD windbreaker was on the ground near where he had been standing.

Snatching up the windbreaker, Ana slipped it on and secured her digital video camera in the pocket. The reporter moved cautiously but decisively towards the bank and when additional personnel moved in, as well as the first of the hostages to be removed were coming out, Ana made sure she was close to the entrance. Soon, more emergency workers were huddling around the entrance and paid her no mind as she entered the building.

Inside was organized chaos. Ana did her best to remain unobtrusive, moving slowly but surely as she picked up snippets of conversations. Finally she hit jackpot –

"Yeah, Delgado is lead agent, but I'm in charge of the scene. Why? Well, the third suspect took a kid hostage, the older brother of the kid followed and now Delgado is following them into the service tunnels. No, she doesn't want anyone following her. No, the brother got a hold of a weapon and we are trying to get both of them back alive."

The agent sighed into his phone as Ana slipped past him. "Yes, it's the Tracy brothers, but Delgado definitely doesn't want that known. The bank manager and one robber are the only fatalities so far and she wants to keep it that way. And the deputy director is fully in support of how she is handling it. Hey, I didn't like her when she first showed up but she's got a solid track record. I'm willing to go with Delgado as far as she can take it -"

What the agent said next was lost as Ana made her way to the back of the bank, discretely examining the scene until she saw the open door leading to the utility tunnels. Two Crime Scene Unit members were examining a storage unit, muttering about a jimmied security lock. Making sure their focus was on the door and not her, Ana slipped into the tunnel and began to quickly make her way down the tunnels. She knew it was only a fifty – fifty shot that she could find the Tracys, the robber and/or the agent…

But what a story it would make if she could do so.

* * *

Hendrickson couldn't believe this was happening. That bitch of a feeb had him locked up – literally. She may not have been the one to cuff him to a chair but she had given the instructions for the door to be locked, leaving the NYPD officer from the scene and one agent.

Glaring at the officer, Hendrickson growled at him. "Delaney, you are an idiot. You are letting the Feebs run roughshod over us and take all the glory. I'll be sure and let the rest of the department know you sided with them."

"You could have gotten someone killed. And you want a medal for being stupid?" Officer Delaney dismissed the other cop's words.

"The brass will back me," Hendrickson hissed.

"The brass will nail your ass to the wall and paper it with the bad press you are going to create from the fall-out," Delaney shrugged.

"Your career is finished," Hendrickson glared.

Delaney just shook his head. "One of us is gonna be toast, but I don't think I'll be the one needing any butter and jam."

Jacob Moehler watched the by-play between the two. His phone had been confiscated and the one on the desk of the small room had a digital security lock on it. It was normal in rooms like this of major office buildings, stopping delivery people and such from making unauthorized calls on the company's dime.

He considered what he had learned today. His uncle and grandfather would be furious. His car had been used in a major crime and his own assistant was directly involved. Jacob had begun to wonder if there was anything he could have done to stop it.

"_Nah,_" he thought dismissively. Anything that had happened was in no way his fault.

Having cleared that up in his own mind, Jacob began to consider Emily Haas. Roderick's little sister was definitely worth a second look. He had known she was supposed to be intelligent, but he didn't know just how smart. She was also very attractive. It was a shame that apparently one of Jeff Tracy's sons had gotten to her first.

A slight smirk came to Jacob's lips. He'd love to be a fly on the wall when that Queen Bee Susan Haas discovered that her barely acceptable daughter had snagged a haul like she did – and now wanted nothing to do with her mother. Jacob had to admire the way the petite blonde had turned the tables on her society parent and used the woman's own tactics against her.

Yep. You had to admit – Emily Haas had style.

* * *

Sherri had to admit – Agent Delgado had style. The woman never let go of the situation for a second and could read other people well. Sure, Sherri wanted the money, but even more than that she wanted revenge. There was no doubt in her mind that if she died the rich jackasses involved would find a way to sweep their sins under the rug as always.

Briefly, Sherri glanced at the Tracy brothers. Alan Tracy looked painfully young and frightened while John Tracy was scared but resolute. There was no doubt in her mind that he would gladly see her dead before any more harm befell his brother. Sherri relaxed the arm around Alan's neck and shoulders, easing her grip for a moment.

In that moment, a sudden noise in the tunnel distracted Sherri and allowing Alan Tracy to throw himself towards his brother. John Tracy hastily grabbed for the teen, both of them falling sideways. Sherri raised her weapon again and fired –

* * *

Ana Nevada couldn't believe her luck. Alan and John Tracy were right in front of her, together with an unmasked killer and a FBI agent. The blood smeared in John Tracy's blonde hair, the gun pressed into his younger brother's chin, the hatred in the mad woman's face and the steel in the agent's voice – it was the making of a major movie. Forget made-for-tv, this was the plot of a major motion picture thriller. God, she hoped that new hot Latina actress, the one who was related to Jennifer Lopez, played her in the flick. Ana could only hope they would invite her to all the red carpet parties afterwards.

Ana was so enamored with her dreams of stardom that she didn't notice some pipes that had been set against the wall. Kicking the edge of one pipe caused the entire pile to come rippling down. The noise echoed relentlessly through the halls, setting off a chain of events the reporter wasn't prepared for –

Grabbing Alan, John pulled his youngest brother to his chest and fell to the ground, accidently throwing his shoulder into Agent Delgado's leg and knocking the woman off balance.

Daria fired her weapon when Alan Tracy was clear but her shot went off from the shoulder wound she intended to inflict. She wasn't sure where – or even if - she had hit the suspect, but it was lower and more centered than had been intended. A second shot, one from Sherri Joyce's weapon whizzed through the air in the direction of the Tracy brothers, with cinder block shattering and sparks flying when an electrical panel exploded behind them.

Crawling closer to the brothers, Daria kept her weapon pulled and at the ready, putting her body between the Tracys and the suspect, only to shift her focus behind her when a metal pipe rolled out of the shadows and struck her in the arm.

"Dammit!" Daria hissed at the sharp contact between the solid object and her elbow. Fighting to maintain her focus on all threats through a wave of pain, Daria cursed again when she saw Sherri Joyce slip of the edge of the walkway and out of sight.

Climbing to her feet, Daria glanced behind her to make sure the Tracys were alright before moving towards where her suspect had been moments before.

One of the gym bags – or approximately five and a half million dollars - was still there but the rest was gone, clutched in the hand of a fleeing suspect. Looking around, Daria couldn't see anyone else but she couldn't take the chance that a rat or rust of something less benign had made the pipes fall.

Grabbing her radio and the gym bag, Daria called in the situation to the command center.

"I can't see anyone but once we get to the entrance for Tracy Towers, I want these tunnels flooded with all possible personnel," she ordered. "I saw her, it's definitely Sherri Joyce. Make sure everyone has her picture. She left one of the bags behind, and" Daria continued as she glanced down at the bag in her hand, "she's hurt. There's blood here."

* * *

Jeff looked up when one of the agents approached him.

"Mr. Tracy?" When Jeff nodded, the agent continued.

"Agent Delgado wants you to open the security doors for the access tunnels. If you will come with me?"

Jeff nodded again, getting up and following the agent. They were almost to the door when the agent glanced over his shoulder before stopping dead.

"Excuse me, but I did say Mr. Tracy -"

Gordon cut him off. "Those are my brothers. I'm going with you. We're family."

"And the ladies?" the agent asked, gesturing to Emily and Sarah.

"They are family," Jeff said firmly, earning him a grin from his son and grateful smiles from the two women.

Jeff stepped past the man and keyed in a code in a small key pad. A panel slipped open and Jeff placed his hand on a screen which allowed for a second keypad that Jeff typed into, causing the agent to speak up in surprise.

"Don't you think this is a bit much in security?"

Tossing a mild glare at the agent as a door handle was now revealed, Jeff shook his head. "This isn't just where I work. When we are in New York, this is where my family lives. I can't control who has access to those tunnels but I can darn well control who has access to my children."

"Gee Dad, does that mean you were worried about us?"

Jeff and Gordon froze at the sound of John's voice, turning slightly to see the two blonde Tracy brothers standing in the poorly lit doorway.

But Emily showed no hesitation what so ever, running forward, screaming, "John!" and throwing herself into his arms before passionately kissing him.

Pulling Alan forward, Jeff held onto his youngest son desperately. "Alan, are you hurt?" he whispered from where his face was buried in Alan's blonde locks.

"A few bumps and bruises, Dad," Alan said from the security of his father's arms.

"Looks like Johnny got the worse of the deal," Gordon said with a smirk.

"Come on," Emily said firmly, pulling back slightly but refusing to let go of John's hand. "We can head upstairs, and I'll examine you." Glancing at Gordon's growing smirk, the young doctor blushed. "I mean, I will examine both Alan and John, of course."

"Sure that's what you meant," Sarah giggled as she pulled Alan into her own arms for a hug.

Daria Delgado observed the scene in satisfaction. This was, in her opinion, the best example of minimal loss scenario. No, not everyone had gotten out alive, but they had saved as many people as they could. The agent was about to say something when she sensed more than heard or could see anything behind her. Whirling quickly, Daria reached back into the tunnel and grabbed blindly.

"Hey!" Ana screamed as Daria pulled her forward thanks to the iron grip the agent had on her long black hair.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" the reporter nastily hissed at Daria.

The agent looked unimpressed. "You are the idiot who announced the identities of two hostages, further endangering them in the bank, and, by your presence here, I would guess that you are the ass who caused those pipes to fall and nearly got me and the Tracys killed down in the tunnels, not to mention allowing the suspect to escape. Well done."

Before Ana could say anything else, Emily stepped forward. Ana was close to six feet and Emily was barely five but it was the taller woman who stepped back from the fury in Emily's eyes.

"You are the reason John was shot at? The reason why he could have died? Did you think for one moment of the consequences of your actions?"

"Consequences, smonsequences," Ana sneered. "We're talking worldwide coverage and me becoming a household name. And what do you plan on doing about it?"

Emily's eyes narrowed for a moment before she balled her delicate hand into a tight fist and threw it forward. The Tracys gasped in amazement while Sarah and Daria gave way to their laughter at the sight of the reporter lying on the floor, blood streaming from her clearly broken nose.

At Daria's signal, the other agent pulled the woman to her feet. "Nose looks broken then, Nevada – not gonna look that good for the six o'clock news."

Glancing over at Emily who had already begun to walk with the Tracys and Sarah towards the private elevator, Daria called out, "Um, Doc? You going to take a look at this?"

Emily glanced towards the reporter, every inch of her aristocratic self evident in her face and posture. With narrowed eyes, she smirked uncharacteristically and spoke even as the doors slid shut. "What I break, Agent Delgado – I do not fix."

* * *

_**A/N - So, we are winding down...**_

_**Alan - About darn time!**_

_**CC (sighs) - Alan, are we going to have to go over this again? Besides, you and John had it fairly easy. Just think of what I've done to you in past stories. **_

_**John - She has a point, Sprout.**_

_**Alan - Why are you taking the sociopath's side?**_

_**CC (frown) - Psychopath, Alan - not a sociopath. And remember - Tracy agnst is cheaper than therapy. Ask Sam1 or Shadowfox8.**_

_**John - Why not Sammygirl1963?**_

_**CC - Oh, she prefers Winchester agnst. **_

_**Alan - So you think you are kinder?**_

_**CC - Not in comparison to some stories. But in comparison to others, I'm a pussy cat.**_

_**Alan (sighs) - You promise you are all done?**_

_**CC - Oh, yeah. This has one more chapter and an epilogue. It will be complete by Christmas. Has to. I am taking this and Left by the Wayside and having them printed and bound for my mom for Christmas.**_

_**John - So you are done torturing us for now?**_

_**CC -Well, I do have a new story for the New Year. Virgil and Sarah need to hook-up, you know.**_

_**Alan - Oh, well that's - Wait...One-shot, or multi-chapter.**_

_**CC - Multi-Chapter.**_

_**Alan - O - M - G...Johnny, she has something evil planned for me!**_

_**CC - I plead the fifth.**_

_**John (sighs) - I'll warn the local hospitals.**_

_**CC - C'mon, I'll grab some fresh baked Christmas cookies and some hot chocolate and tell you just what I am going to do. While I'm doing that, say goodbye to the readers. (Leaves the room)**_

_**Alan - PLEASE review, and put CC in a good mood. It might cut down on my days of hospitilization.**_

_**John - But I wouldn't count on it. C'mon, Al - CC made peanut butter and chocolate kiss cookies. You may as well enjoy yourself before the next story starts.**_


	23. Chapter 23

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

**Disclaimer - If I said all I want for Christmas, beyond the winning Powerball numbers, was the Thunderbirds, do you think Santa would bring it to me? Wadda ya mean, I'm on the naughty list?**

* * *

**Chapter 23**

Sarah was giving Alan a quick once over while Emily carefully checked John out – in a purely medical sense – while Jeff stood protectively nearby. Once Sarah had finished, Alan smiled and stretched, thankfully taking the clean shirt his father held out. As he pulled it over, the teenager looked around.

"Where's Gordy?" he asked in confusion.

Jeff gave a small smile – it seemed he couldn't stop smiling at the moment – and responded, "He went to call the island. Everyone there has been worried as well."

Alan sighed, blowing a tuft of his bangs up as he did so. "Man, Scott is going to be uber-big brother after this, isn't he?"

"Oh, yeah," John groaned. "Smother Hen Tracy, reporting for duty."

"Not until after he gets out of the infirmary," Gordon said as he rejoined his family.

"Infirmary?" Alan gasped, jumping to his feet.

"Calm down, Alan," Gordon said calmly. "Big brother just got a bit of a boo-boo."

Alan glared at his next oldest brother before retorting, "First – I'm fifteen, not five, Fish-Face. Second, we don't usually "enjoy" a stay in the infirmary for "boo-boos", now do we?"

"Actually, Sprout," John mused, "you usually play escape artist faster than Scott does. But you do have a point – Virgil wouldn't keep Scott in the infirmary for a minor injury."

Emily took pity on the two blonde brothers. "If it makes you two feel better, I examined Scott. I was there when he came home with Virgil and Gordon."

"When they came home?" John asked, paling slightly. Sarah looked concerned, then confused when she saw the annoyed expression on Emily's face.

Gordon spoke up again when Emily and John continued to stare at each other.

"Yeah, we were out on, um, _family business _when Scott got hurt. He slipped and hit his head on a railing. So Emily was there, waiting in Dad's office when we got home. Met us right at the, um, doorway."

"You did, huh?" Alan asked softly.

"Yes, Alan, I did," Emily answered even as she continued to look John right in the eye. "And I must say, I saw the one picture of you, the one I had _never seen before._ I have to admit, it really took me by surprise."

"John," Jeff interrupted. "Why don't you go get changed? Emily, could you give him a hand? I mean, I don't want him to get dizzy or anything -"

"We do have a few things we need to discuss, Mr. Tracy," Emily said firmly. Gesturing towards the hallway that she presumed led to the bedrooms and bathrooms, Emily gave a small smile. "Lead on, McDuff."

Alan grinned as he watched his older brother meekly head down the hallway with Emily before shaking his head. "Oh, she is so gonna make him crawl before she forgives him."

"Forgives him for what?" Sarah asked in confusion.

The Tracys froze, having momentarily forgotten that Sarah was in the room and that she had no idea about International Rescue. For a moment, Jeff considered telling her everything. After all, Sarah had long been considered part of the family and she could easily recall the pain the Tracys had suffered at the death of his wife. To Sarah, losing Lucy had been losing a surrogate mother. But glancing at Alan, Jeff knew that as upset as Emily appeared to be at Alan being a Thunderbird, Sarah would be furious at her "baby" being endangered in any way, shape or form.

No, he would keep it quiet for now. Maybe later –

"John told us he was going to propose to Emily," Gordon piped up. "Emily hasn't been formally proposed to and methinks milady is a tad offended."

"Well, she should be," Sarah retorted. "Ask the girl before you tell the family, puh-lease!"

"I'll remember that," Alan said cheekily.

Sarah grinned and threw an arm around his shoulder. "C'mon, Baby, let's fix something to eat and you can tell me how much you have been driving your brothers nuts since I last saw you."

Jeff began to follow them when Gordon spoke up. "OK, first, Sarah, you mean you will cook, right?"

Shaking her head, Sarah squeezed Alan's shoulders and grinned again. "Nope. Johnny was telling me what a good cook Alan was. I'm going to let him take the helm. Although I can make Mulligan's Stew, ragout, and chili, thanks to my fellow fire fighters back in Boston."

"Mulligan Stew, I know," Gordon said in interest, "and everyone knows chili, but what is ragout?"

"French-Canadian dish," Sarah explained as they entered the kitchen. Alan began to take out dishes while Sarah pulled some food from the cabinets and fridge. "Potatoes, chicken, pork and open windows are required."

"Open windows?" Alan asked in confusion as he set a pan in the sink and began to fill it with water.

"First thing you do is burn flour," Sarah explained once more.

"Open windows," the Tracys all agreed in a laughing chorus.

"Should we wait for Emily and John?" Gordon asked as he began to dice vegetables at Alan's instructions.

"Not if they are anything like your parents were," Sarah muttered while she set the table. Looking up to see Jeff's surprised look, she grinned. "Yeah, Mr. Tracy – I remember."

Jeff's blush made the three younger people laugh which made him join in. After the day he had suffered through – the laughter was very sweet.

* * *

Daria rubbed her eyes, exhaustion from the day's events catching up with her. She turned with a slight groan, remembering the report she would need to get started on before she could go home.

"Well, Agent? Can I leave _now?" _

Swallowing a groan, Daria turned to see Jacob Moehler approaching her. The agent who had been watching him and Hendrickson stood in the doorway, looking slightly perturbed.

"Sorry, Agent Delgado," Agent Smyth shook his head. "I opened the door to check on status and he pushed his way past me."

"That's fine, Smyth," Daria shrugged. "The police commissioner is on his way, so tell Delaney he might want to release Hendrickson as well."

"As for you, Mr. Moehler," Daria turned to the other man, "I should inform you that Sherri Joyce escaped into the tunnels and as of this time, her whereabouts are unknown. You may want to take certain precautions since I don't think she likes you very much."

"You think I'm scared of an insignificant skank like her?"

Shaking her head, Daria let out a small chuckle. "Only if you have a lick of common sense, Mr. Moehler. That is a woman who feels she has nothing to lose and may just think that if she's going to get the needle for executing the bank manager she might as well kill someone she blames for her misfortune in the first place."

Jacob had gone very pale but anything he might have said was pushed aside when another agent ran into the building.

"Hey, Smyth, have you seen – Oh, there you are Agent Delgado," the woman exclaimed.

Nodding, Daria moved towards her. "Cooke – is something wrong with any of the hostages? Because if it's the press, just get the media liaison to handle the vultures."

"He already is, Ma'am," Cooke said calmly as she nodded at Daria. "But we may need to arrest one of the hostages."

Pinching the bridge of her nose against the forthcoming migraine, Daria sighed. "According to McKenzie, there were only three of them, and McKenzie worked for the bank. He was the inside man."

"I don't think she was in on the robbery but -"

Anything else Agent Cooke would have said ended when Lisa Bloom was led into the bank by a NYPD officer, her designer threads clearly finished by the latest calamity of the day.

"Orange security dye is not a good look for you, Ms. Bloom," Daria said sarcastically looking the woman up and down.

"They – they made me take it," Lisa stuttered, her eyes darting around the room.

"So why didn't you leave it in the bank when you were rescued?" Daria asked.

"I forgot it," Lisa said quickly.

"You do realize," Daria calmly explained, "that we will be talking to the other hostages and the suspect already in custody. And that while we couldn't access security cameras from outside the bank, we can assume that some of the internal cameras that were on an intranet might contradict your story?"

Lisa stood straight and glared at the agents surrounding her. "My Versachi jacket was used as a bandage and my Jimmy Choo shoes are ruined. The bank owed me for some new clothes!"

"Then you should have filed an expense voucher, Ms. Bloom," a new voice said.

Everyone turned to see a middle aged man enter the room. Turning to Daria, the man nodded. "Agent Delgado, I'm Raymond Moran, CEO of Metro-Union. On behalf of my bank, I'd like to thank your personnel for a job well done."

"Just doing our job, Mr. Moran," Daria nodded, Agents Smyth and Cooke also agreeing with her words.

"Well, still, thank you. And I was relieved to hear that you saved Jeff Tracy's sons. It's important to keep major investors happy in banking, you know."

Daria frowned until she realized the man was attempting to inject humor into the situation. Giving him a small smile, she nodded. "Yes, sir. The Federal Government dislikes having major defense contractors made unhappy as well."

Nodding, Moran smiled at her. "Yes, well, again – thank you. I am aware of how badly this could have ended and would appreciate any insight the FBI may have in how to prevent future occurrences."

"Yes, sir," Daria agreed. "Just so you know, sir, without the help of Michael McKenzie, the body count could have been much higher."

"McKenzie," Moran sighed. "Yes, the IT employee who helped with the robbery. Well, it does go without saying he will be fired."

Nodding, Daria gave a small smile. "Completely understandable, in that regard, sir – but I hope you don't mind if I recommend leniency to the prosecutor."

Moran shrugged. "What of the suspects who shot the police officer and my manager?"

Daria gave a wry smile. "Thompson shot the police officer – who, by the way, will survive – and he was apparently killed in a firefight. The manager," Daria looked at her notes, "Mr. Mosley, was shot by Joyce and we are still looking for her. My concern was getting the Tracy brothers to safety. She was wounded and half of the NYPD and a large chunk of available FBI in Manhattan are searching for her now. The BOLO is on the wire and she should be apprehended soon. Her face is being plastered all over the world."

"I understand half of the one million dollars from my bank was recovered?" Moran asked. When Daria nodded, he continued.

"Fine, that money can now be considered reward money. Five hundred thousand dollars for Sherri Joyce, added to any other reward money that may be generated."

With a nod, the CEO turned and walked away, pausing at the door to look at Lisa.

"Oh, and Miss Bloom?" When he was sure he had the receptionist's attention, Raymond Moran continued. "Consider yourself fired."

Lisa stood in the lobby, looking like she was about to cry before turning to leave. Daria's hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.

"I don't think so, you Bloom-ing idiot," Daria snarked. "Consider yourself heading to the Federal Building for questioning. You still stole money from a Federal Reserve Bank. And Moehler? You'll be going with her. You still took a swing at one of my agents."

Nodding to Cooke and Smyth, Daria smiled smugly when the two miscreants were escorted from the building. They had barely left when a large-set man with graying hair entered.

"Agent Delgado?"

"Yes?" Daria asked with a politeness she didn't feel.

"I'm Joshua Upham, Police Commissioner. I understand there was a problem with one of my men."

Before Daria could say anything, Hendrickson stormed from the side room, rubbing his wrist where the handcuff hand been.

"Commissioner," the angry man shouted, only to be interrupted when Officer Delaney came out at a more sedate pace.

"Hiya, Uncle Josh," the young officer smiled.

Hendrickson's face lost all color as he looked at the two men, sickened to see a slight resemblance.

"Uncle Josh?" Daria asked when Hendrickson remained silent.

The commissioner smiled and put an arm around the younger man.

"JT here is the son of my late partner, God rest his soul, and my sister, Eileen. I promised his father when he died I would take care of them. Tom was a good man and Joshua Thomas here looks to be following in his footsteps in more ways than one. However," the older man said indulgently, "I best not be hearing about you volunteering for so many dangerous assignments again."

"With all due respect," Daria said, "it wouldn't have been that dangerous if _someone _hadn't fired a shot or brought a reporter close enough that she could endanger law enforcement and civilians."

Her glare at Hendrickson made it clear who she held responsible for the charges she had laid out.

"I'll be awaiting your report, Agent," Upham said.

Daria handed him a small device. "This is the memory card from Ana Nevada's camera. She mentioned it had some interesting things on it. Something to do with an incident a few weeks ago with a suspect and Hednrickson here."

The commissioner nodded, sure that he knew just how the reporter had been gaining confidential NYPD info recently – and just what she had been holding over his officer. He hadn't wanted to believe that any of his people could be guilty of that degree of excessive force, but as he slipped the memory card into an evidence bag that his nephew was holding, Upham had a heavy heart over what he knew would be on the device.

"Just so you know," Daria said, "that's a copy. I had burned it before you got here. I expect nothing regarding the Tracys to be made public. Jeff Tracy does his best to keep his youngest son out of the media and I am hoping for the assistance of the NYPD."

Upham nodded again. "I can guarantee that one, Agent Delgado."

Turning to his officers, Upham smiled at his nephew. "Still coming to dinner, Sunday, JT?" When JT nodded, the commissioner glared at Hendrickson.

"And you, I will expect in my office, first thing tomorrow. And Hendrickson?" When the man nodded, Upham smiled again, but with none of the warmth from earlier.

"Bring a Union Rep."

* * *

Jeff and Gordon were laughing at a story Sarah was telling about a rescue, thinking that they wished they could tell her about International Rescue and add a few of their own adventures. Alan had already heard the story in the bank, but grinned as he drained the pasta and began to mix it with the sauce, vegetables and diced chicken he had simmering on the stove. The teenager had barely moved the pan to the cooling pad on the table when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Gordon piped up as he ran from the kitchen.

Frowning, Jeff glanced at the swinging door.

"Something wrong, Mr. Tracy?" Sarah asked as she poured ice tea into the glasses before setting the pitcher on the table.

Jeff glanced at Alan who waived his father off with an "I-got-this" gesture before answering Sarah.

"Well, most people can't get up here. The elevator has a special locking device and most of the public elevators don't go up this far."

"But I can bring someone up," Ann-Marie said cheerfully as she led Daria into the room.

"Agent Delgado, Ann-Marie," Alan grinned. "Want us to set two more plates?"

Even as Ann-Marie shook her head, Daria likewise declined. "No thanks, I have reports to finish before I can go home. The sooner I do that, the better. I just thought you might want to know that we still haven't found Sherri Joyce, but I doubt she will be coming after you. Michael McKenzie and Marie Shaheen are both resting comfortably at the hospital. And it may interest you to know, Alan that the receptionist who insulted your brother and endangered you tried to pocket some money herself and got busted when the dye pack exploded over her."

"Couldn't have happened to a not-nicer person," Alan smirked.

"I've asked Agent Delgado to CC us wherever possible, Jeff," Ann-Marie said.

"Will you need my sons to testify?" Jeff asked in concern.

Daria shook her head. "Not for McKenzie, he has already given a full confession to Agent Sanders. When we catch Joyce, it's possible. But we confiscated Ana Nevada's video disc and we have some of it on that. Hopefully not, Mr. Tracy, but I will keep you informed."

"Where's John?" Ann-Marie asked as she and Daria prepared to leave.

"Busy," came the chorus from the others gathered in the room before Gordon and Alan began to laugh.

When Daria looked confused, Ann-Marie took pity on the agent and led her by the arm. "Come, Agent Delgado and I'll explain the variety of ways Tracy men relieve stress."

Daria remained bemused but shook the hands of everyone before commenting to Alan, "Nice purity ring. Your girlfriend has one as well?"

Alan nodded even as the rest of the room looked at him in surprise. "Tin-Tin and I bought them for each other earlier this year. And I prefer to go for long runs when I'm stressed. At least for now."

"And for the sake of Jeff's blood pressure," Ann-Marie joked, "hopefully for years to come."

Laughing, the two women left the room even as the family sat down, ready to dig in to the wonderful smelling food.

* * *

"John Glenn Tracy," Emily snapped. "Don't think you can sweet talk your way out of this. Not only did you not tell me something so definitely life changing about your family but you – OH! How can you guys have Alan doing this?"

"Is that what has you so mad?" John asked as he flopped onto the bed. "Emmy, I promise you – we keep Alan safe. He mainly does training and communications. And we are doing our best to keep him safe. Keeping him away from the Thunderbirds won't keep him any safer and makes him feel cut off from the rest of the family. Dad knows we are walking a fine line in protecting Alan and making him feel included, but the man knows his balancing act. The world needs the Thunderbirds, Emmy – but the Thunderbirds, and the Tracys, need Alan. He's the glue that keeps us together, Emmy – and he doesn't even seem to realize it."

"So what you are saying," Emily sighed, "is that the strength of the Thunderbirds comes from the strength of the Tracys and that the Tracys draw their strength from looking out for their baby brother."

John gave the lopsided grin Emily had fell in love with from the start. "I love it when you get succinct."

Emily sat down next to John. "I'm really not that mad anymore," she confessed. "Your brothers did a pretty good job explaining your reasons. And they do make sense."

"So why the dressing down?" John asked with a chuckle.

"Because I was scared," Emily admitted. "And being angry gives me less of a headache than crying. And I really wanted to hit something but I got that out of my way when that freakin' reporter got in my way."

"Ah," sighed John. "Ana Nevada finally has a purpose in life."

Emily giggled and leaned into John who pulled her close. Kissing her gently, he smiled at her. "I wanted to do this is some grand, romantic fashion but…"

John leaned back and pulled open a drawer in his bedside stand. Taking out a small blue velvet box, he softly set it in Emily's hands. With an encouraging look, Emily opened the box and gasped.

Nestled in the box was a dark blue amethyst ring, surrounded by a dozen tiny diamonds. Kissing Emily again, John smiled once more. "I saw this ring and all I could see were your eyes. If you want a diamond instead -"

He broke off when Emily silently shook her head.

"Is that no diamond or no you won't marry me?" John asked softly.

Emily's breath took a hitch before she could speak. "I don't believe you've asked me, John Tracy."

Getting down on one knee beside the bed, John took Emily's hand in his. "Emily Anne Haas, I've been in love with you since I first saw your picture. I've known I wanted you for my wife since the day I met you. I can't imagine a life without you in it. Will you marry me?"

Nodding, Emily leaned forward and kissed him softly. "Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Starman. Because I can't imagine a future without you either."

Standing, John pulled Emily into his arms and began to kiss her passionately. As they slowly fell back on the bed, their lips and bodies still joined in a fierce embrace. Through passion and laughter, they celebrated the start of their life together…

And it would be years before John asked what Emily meant as she whispered, "Dibbs."

* * *

Virgil walked back into the infirmary as Scott was waking up again.

"Virg?" Scott asked in a voice still husky from sleep.

"Hey, Scott," Virgil smiled down at his oldest brother. "Gordy called a little while ago. John and Alan are alright. They'll be home tomorrow; Dad wants them to rest up a bit."

"Are they flying back separate?" Scott questioned.

"Nope," Virgil grinned. "Seem Tracy Two is due a tune-up. Emily pushed it a bit hard."

"How hard?"

Chuckling, Virgil shook his head as he pulled up a chair. "She just missed your record for the Island to Manhattan."

"Damn," Scott whispered. "OK, she is kinda hot – not my type, I prefer brunettes – but I hope John knows what he is getting into."

Scott had been blinking the whole time he was talking and began to drift back to sleep.

Virgil checked Scott's vitals to make sure it was a natural sleep before making himself comfortable in the chair now placed within reach of his brother's bed. Thinking of his other older brother, Virgil grinned even as he opened in sketch book.

_Oh, yeah. Johnny knows what he is getting into – the lucky bastard._

* * *

Deep in the bowels of the New York City Sewage System, Sherri Joyce had squirreled her way into a forgotten storage area. Clutching the remaining bag stuffed with her ill-gotten gains, she made herself as comfortable as she could.

Looking around at the small touch of illumination allowed by the emergency lights in the walk-way, Sherri noted the water marks along the walls. She knew that sometimes when there was excessive water in the drainage systems, such as during a torrential storm, the water sometimes rose onto the walkways. But there was no forecast for any rain at this time. She was safe to wait there, at least until she felt strong enough to move forward.

Clutching at her side, Sherri looked in dismay at the blood on her hand. "Damn," she muttered as she pulled off a sleeve and pressed it into the wound. The agent's bullet was painful and it wasn't like she could just walk into a hospital. But Sherri was sure if she could get out of the city, she could find someone willing to treat her wound in exchange for a few grand of untraceable cash. She just needed to rest until darkness fell. It was August; sunset was not until late evening. For safety sake, Sherri would wait until close to midnight. No one would notice her among the rest of the city's refuge that wandered the streets at night, when so-called "respectable" folk were safe in their abodes.

Curling further into herself, Sherri pulled out her cell phone and set the alarm. She would rest until just before midnight and then start on her journey into her future –

But when midnight arrived, Sherri Joyce had already departed, leaving her rapidly cooling body behind. For better or for worse, it would be a while before anyone found her.

Well, anyone human, at least.

* * *

**A/N - Ooh, happy almost endings. Hope that satisfied some revenge fantasies. Will be posting the epilogue on Christmas Eve. Take care! - CC**


	24. Epilogue

**Alan and John Walk into a Bank**

**by Criminally Charmed**

_**Disclaimer - Well, I asked Santa, so wish me luck.**_

**

* * *

**

Epilogue

_**May of the following year…**_

Kate Eppes took the bag of groceries from Emily's hands, glaring at the tiny blonde.

"I'm pregnant, not handicapped," Emily grumbled.

Sarah snickered as she unlocked the front door of the house they had rented for the weekend.

"Yeah," Sarah laughed as she set down her own bag in the kitchen. "Now try and get that past any of the Tracys."

"Oh My God," Emily groaned. "They are going to become fanatical watchdogs, aren't they?"

"To put it mildly," Kate agreed. When Emily melted into a chair and buried her head in her arms, the older woman laughed and tried to change the subject.

"Nice ring," she said, catching Sarah's eyes as the redhead started to pull out pots and pans.

Sarah looked up with a grin before continuing with her work.

"So when's the big date?" Kate asked as she snagged an apple from the fruit basket and hopped up to sit on the counter.

"September 17th," Sarah smiled as she began to dice up some potatoes. Glancing over at Emily, her smile grew as she asked, "And your big date?"

"October 10th," Emily's face grew dreamy as she lifted her head.

"You managed to hide your pregnancy to the half way point?" Kate asked in surprise. "I knew about my cousin Maggie and my Cousin Ben's wife two minutes after the rabbit died." Shaking her head, Kate took a bite of her apple before she swallowed and spoke again.

"Nice to have your lives so perfect," Kate sighed.

"Trust me," Sarah sighed as she began to peel onions to join the potatoes. "It took a lot of work. We only filled you in until Alan and John got out of the bank. The time between then and now has been interesting to say the least."

"How so?" Kate asked. "I mean, beyond the obvious. Emily and John got married, had sex at least once -"

"Trust me," Sarah repeated as she interrupted their new friend, "I live with them on the Island when I stay there. They have had sex a LOT more than once."

The three women giggled before Kate continued. "And you and Virgil hooked up. How did that happen if you went back to Boston right after the incident at Metro Union?"

"Long story," Sarah sighed. "And since we only have about ten minutes before the guys get here, I don't have the time. Oh, and it's not being announced until June - the engagement, that is. So can you keep it under your hat until then?"

"Alright," Kate shrugged, "then maybe you can answer something for me without the Tracys thinking I'm nuts."

Emily and Sarah looked at each other and shrugged.

"We can't make any guarantees," Emily said cautiously as Sarah nodded.

Kate looked at the two women, unsure if she should continue. Watching as Sarah poured three glasses of lemonade, the agent waited until the others were already drinking before reaching for her glass and casually asking, "So are the Tracys International Rescue?"

* * *

All of the Tracys poured out of the two rental cars, laughing and talking all the way.

"Alan, that was an awesome showing," Gordon grinned as he punched his now-taller little brother in the arm.

John grinned as well. "I think your coach is right, Sprout – you'll be breaking records soon. And some of those college scouts were disappointed to hear you were only heading into your Junior year."

"Didn't stop _someone_," Scott huffed, "from giving the Harvard coach his card, did it?"

"Can I help it if the current head coach of Harvard's Track Team was the assistant coach when I was there," John said in innocence.

"Well, you didn't see me doing that with Yale or Virgil with Princeton," Scott argued.

"Since I played football and you played baseball, that would be kind of lame," Virgil joked as he grabbed Alan's overnight bag from the trunk.

Jeff stood back, silent but laughing inside. _Oh, Lucy – our boys are amazing. I wish you were here with me to enjoy it._

As the scent of Lucy's perfume filled the air, Jeff could have sworn he felt a breath of air near his cheek. _I promise you, Rocket Man – I am never far from your side._

Opening the door, Jeff froze in shock when he heard Agent Eppes ask, "So are the Tracys International Rescue?"

Hearing a noise at the door, the three women – two of whom were still deeply in shock – turned to see the Tracys all frozen in the doorway, staring at them in disbelief.

Lifting her apple back to her mouth, Kate took another bite and swallowed before she continued, "Or I could just ask the source."

Pulling his sons into the house, Jeff stepped forward and confronted the young agent. "May I ask what you mean?"

"OK," Kate said lightly. "I'm pretty sure – you do meet the equation."

"Equation?" John said in disbelief, walking over to Emily and pulling her close.

"My Uncle Charlie once proposed a theory to finding out who International Rescue was," Kate said calmly. "Find the leader, find the secret society. The whole idea of people operating off the radar bothered my dad."

"Still - isn't that a big leap?" Scott said in a bit of hostility.

Kate grinned. "First thing we often look for in law enforcement is motive. What is the stressor to cause the abnormal behavior? I believe that would be Mrs. Tracy's death."

Sarah reached out and grasped Virgil's hand while placing her other hand on Alan's shoulder.

"So we have motive, means, opportunity," Kate said calmly. "You fit the trifecta perfectly. My dad occasionally considered launching an investigation into International Rescue."

"What changed his mind?" Gordon asked from where he lounged on the couch.

"The Hood," Kate said bluntly.

When the entire family went still as bitter memories washed over them, Kate continued.

"I won't say anything. It's just I thought I had figured it out a year ago and I figured I could tell for certain if I looked you in the eye when talking to you."

"What happened a year ago to make you sure of your theory?" Scott asked, trying to balance his protectiveness to his family and his attraction to Kate.

"Alan," Kate said gently, glancing over at the youngest Tracy. "I was on desk-duty and watching the news I was drawn to two stories. The first was how Alan Tracy had been found after being run down by a drunk driver."

The entire family flinched, but still formed a protective wall around Alan while Kate continued.

"The second was about how International Rescue was temporarily shut down due to "_a non-rescue related injury of one of its members" _which," she said firmly, "just so happened at the same time. It was too much of a coincidence."

"What are you planning on doing with this information?" Sarah said with fierce determination.

Kate grinned, making her look much younger than her age. "I plan on being smug and secretly knowing that in this one thing, I figured out a mystery that Don and Charlie Eppes - one who is considered to be one of the greatest FBI agents ever, while his brother is purported to be one of the smartest men in the world – couldn't figure out."

"That's it?" Scott asked in disbelief.

"Yup," Kate said as she started back in on her apple.

"No ulterior motives or schemes?" Virgil questioned.

"Nope," she continued calmly as she hopped back off the counter before taking Scott's hand and sitting on the couch.

"She's something else, isn't she?" Jeff grinned as he watched Kate deftly change subject that drew Alan and Gordon in while Scott just smiled in a bemused manner.

When Jeff went over to join his sons, Emily and Sarah just stared at each other in disbelief.

"I had to walk in on them returning from a rescue!" Emily groaned.

"Well, you know how I found out," Sarah grumbled, tossing a glare at Virgil before returning to preparing the meal.

"I'm going to be paying for that for the rest of our lives," Virgil sighed as he followed her into the kitchen.

"Yup," John grinned in a fairly good imitation of Kate which earned him a glare of his own from his wife.

Emily stopped glaring at her husband when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her behind her ear. Gently placing a hand on her stomach, John whispered, "Looks like our family is going to be getting even bigger than we thought, doesn't it?"

Glancing over at the remaining Tracys and Kate, Emily smiled at how easily the young woman was fitting in. Catching the scent of lilacs, Emily's smile grew even more as she met John's eyes. They knew Lucy Tracy was watching over her family – and she approved.

Life wasn't perfect – it never was. But sometimes, people are allowed a bit of flawed perfection.

And that was good enough for now.

**

* * *

**

A/N - OK, so I am finished for now...

**Alan - Oh, what - you don't want to blow up our Christmas tree?**

**CC - Alan, no, I don't. I try to give you guys nice holidays, don't I?**

**Alan (sighs) - I guess.**

**CC - Besides, I have had most of this done for a bit. I just wanted a chance to answer the reviews. I still have a few left but decided I wanted to post this before church. I will try and answer ALL reviews this weekend. But seriously, I am taking a break for a few weeks. See - my one job was up in the air as the medical practice was being bought out, so I was stressed there and the other is retail - enough said on that one. But one job is safe and the other should wind down soon. I am trying to give my daughter what she wants most for Christmas. When the Santa at one party asked her what she wanted, Janie just smiled and said she was getting it. Her mom and dad both had the day off from both jobs and were spending the whole day with her. It was all she asked for.**

**Alan - OK, way to make me feel way guilty.**

**CC - Yeah, it's a mom thing.**

**Sam1 - Yo! Are you done being mopey yet?**

**Sammygirl1963 - Pft! Pot meet kettle.**

**Sam1 - Why are you defending her?**

**CC - Cause she is the big sister. We defend you against others and harass each other in private. It's a family thing.**

**Alan - Yeah, I guess it is. Um, well - (hugs CC) Thanks for getting us out of trouble. (runs off as he yells) Merry Christmas!**

**Sam1 - Should we remind him you are the one who gets him INTO trouble.**

**CC - Let me enjoy the moment.**

**Sammygirl1963 - I brought the cocoa...**

**CC- Any of that gingerbread cake left? (Sighs) OK, don't worry. I have some red velvet cake as well. Merry Christmas, you two. Thanks for all you've done this year.**

**Sam1 - Ugh, put a diabetic warning here.**

**CC - So not the sensative one.**

**Sammygirl1963 - Merry Christmas (go Steelers!)**

**CC - I saw that (Go Pats!) Merry Christmas and peace in your house, Earth would be pushing it.**

**FIN**


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